Relight
by TheCeMonstrosity
Summary: What happens when you replace the characters of Twilight with new ones? Twilight, with less angst, more humor, and more than a few surprises in store. Bella, meet Cassie. Edward, meet Simon. Jacob, meet Lyle. Twilight, meet Relight.
1. Prologue

The bastard smiled at me. It was appropriate, of course, considering his side of things, but from my perspective it was grotesque. In all my daydreams involving death the killer had never been smiling like that. He'd been destroyed with agony, consumed with fire and self-loathing, or even entirely unemotional. But never _happy_.

Call it denial. My death, which had become a topic of conversation as well as elaborate fantasy these past months, should not be a happy occasion. As a self-preserving human, my brain rejected death, and so no part of those visions were positive. But now, faced with the inevitable, murdered — by a stranger, no less — there was a smile.

Maybe he wasn't the only one. I should be happy, too, that I was about to die. It was for a good cause, for someone I loved. My death would save another's life. Surely that should give me some sort of wrenched, perverse joy.

But all I felt was terror as that smile walked steadily forward to kill me.

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**This begins as a paragraph-by-paragraph rewrite through a new voice; it quickly deviates to new plot twists and turns, since old characters do old things and new characters have minds of their own.**

**New update should be in the next few days, after that hopefully weekly if there is interest.**

**If you review, I will review something of yours.**

**Welcome to the party.**

**-Ce**


	2. Home Sweet Home

We drove with the windows rolled down, letting the dry Arizona breeze fill the car. It was a beautiful day in Phoenix, as usual, and with my arm draped out the window to catch the last rays of sunlight I knew I'd miss this. I'd miss the sun beating down on my skin, warm breezes teasing my hair, the soft dust coating everything with a peculiarly clean smell, hot days followed by warm nights where you could sit on the porch and talk beneath the stars.

I sighed as we pulled into the airport. My mother heard and looked over at me before turning off the engine. "Cass, you don't have to go, you know."

Of course I had to go. We'd bought the tickets, I'd packed, we were here, and my father was waiting for me. Forks might be hell on earth, but I was going. Leaving this beautiful desert for the constant downpour of the Olympic Peninsula, humidity which was sure to do wonders for my hair, and vast, moss-covered forests. Everything about Forks was dreary and lifeless to me, despite the abundance of green. My mother had prudently abandoned the place with me when I was three months old. And now, here I was, seventeen years later, going back to my origins; essentially undoing what she'd done.

Every summer I'd traveled to Forks to stay with my father, Henry. Over those three month intervals I'd developed my distaste for Forks, quickly replaced by loathing, which has persisted until this very day.

She said it again at the gate. "Cass, if you want to stay, it's all right."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. If I hadn't changed my mind in the month since I'd made this decision, I probably wasn't going to now. All the reasoning and half-hearted pleas from my mother hadn't been enough. She'd have to let me go in a year anyway, for college or something, and there was no reason to spend that year letting Jack go travel-happy alone while she waited for me to leave. "Mom, I'm going."

Whoops. That came out wrong. She bit her lip and nodded, but her pain wasn't entirely sincere. In fact, she was almost grateful. She wanted me to go. She hugged me, gave a quick goodbye, and practically shoved me onto the plane.

A half hour later, Phoenix was out of sight. I spent the four hour plane ride watching the desert change to mountains beneath me. When we flew through clouds I flipped half-heartedly through a book, just trying to keep things off my mind. It didn't work very well. My restless brain kept conjuring up images of ceaseless thunderstorms, and some irrational part of me screamed that I'd never see the sun again. I told it to shut up and fought back with rainbows.

Dad picked me up from the airport in his police cruiser. My father is chief of police in Forks, so it goes without saying that he drives the cop car _everywhere._ I swear, he gets some kind of childish delight from the whole thing. He'd promised to help me get my own car so I wouldn't have to ride around in such an ostentatious passenger seat. Truth be told, I was rather desperate. Being driven around by my father in such an obstinately unrebellious vehicle was a less than ideal circumstance for the new kid in town.

And that's exactly what I'd be. In this town of three thousand, with a high school not reaching four hundred, I was bound to be the new kid for at least a month. Probably more, with my luck.

I grinned at my father as he came around the car to greet me. "It's good to have you home, Cass."

Home was a thousand miles away. "Hey Dad, I missed you." I hugged him briefly. While my stunning good looks came from my mother, my personality was my father's. The sarcastic, quiet, content bookworm type. Neither of us were conversationalists, so we'd lead a quiet life, much as we had every summer. I'd find something to read, he'd watch TV. Idle conversation at mealtimes to fill the silence. Our pattern was set in stone before I stepped off the plane.

For Henry, it would be easy. He'd lived by himself since Mom ran out on him; he was used to the relative silence. But I'd lived with Mom. Her chatter had been the music to my existence.

"How's Meredith?"

I shrugged. "She's doing good."

"Is she happy?"

He meant Jack, of course. "Yeah. She is." I hadn't seen her so crazy about someone in years.

He grunted. I helped him put my stuff in the trunk then slid into the familiar front seat of the cruiser. We made small talk on the drive to Forks; the weather, how he'd gotten me registered for school, how I was a bit nervous about school, how he thought he'd found me a car, the most recent arrests. Even as I wanted to linger on the subject of my car, he continued on the latest Fork's news, and for the last hour I tuned out.

It was drizzling when we pulled up, giving the air a heavy, fertile feel. I could feel my curly brown hair frizzing out already. There was an unfamiliar vehicle parked out front, and Dad grinned as I looked at it questioningly.

"What do you think?"

It was a truck. An old one, massive, with faded red paint and rust spots. The bumper was dented inward slightly, indicative of some long-forgotten collision that it won with ease. The more I stared at it, the more indestructible it looked. My jaw dropped slightly. "Dad, is this _mine?"_

He nodded. "Bought it off Frank Hawkins."

My head moved up and down slowly. Dad's best friend, Frank. His son, Lyle, had kept me company during my long summers here. We were a mismatched group, but it kept my mind off the rain.

Quickly my thoughts drifted back to the truck, looming in front of me like an enormous brick. "Dad, you didn't have to, I was going to get a job, and — "

But he cut me off. "Too late, kid. It's yours."

A smile spread slowly across my face. Maybe this move wouldn't be so bad after all. I got out of the cruiser to get a closer look, Dad right behind me, grinning like an imbecile. After a full circle inspection I opened the door and hopped in. It felt like sitting in a tank. A red one. With absolutely horrible gas mileage, which I didn't mention to my father, because he looked too happy for me to ruin it.

While my first impulse was to get the keys and drive the thing around the block a few times, I had unpacking to do, so I reluctantly left the beautiful machine to its rusting and turned to the house.

It was your basic two story structure, with faded, peeling whitewash and an uneven path to the door. Inside wasn't much different. Pale walls, blue carpet, and absolutely tiny. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen that doubled as a dining room, and a family room that barely fit the couch and TV. My parents, when they bought it as newlyweds, could only afford spartan furniture, and after Mom walked out Dad never upgraded. Every school picture of mine lined the dining room wall, gracefully displaying my journey through life, braces and all.

My room faced the front yard, and hadn't changed a whole lot more than the rest of the house. Blue walls, small closet, a chest of drawers. The only difference between seventeen years ago and now was a bed instead of a crib, and the addition of a desk with a computer Mom had insisted on buying me. I dropped my suitcase on the bed and looked for cobwebs.

Dad hovered awkwardly in the doorway until I gave him an encouraging smile. No, I wasn't going to freak out on him about all this. Forks may be the most detestable location on the planet, but I'd come of my own free will, and I was going to make the best of it.

Besides, he'd bought me a car. That particular high was bound to last at least three days.

With Dad downstairs making dinner I was left to myself. It was a relief. Now I could get my moping out before tomorrow, the first day of school.

School. The word had been a curse from the beginning. As a shy, sarcastic, average-looking girl, school had never been the best place for me. That required some level of social skills. I'd never been the friendly type, never had many friends. I didn't need them, really; I was fine by myself. I'd read and spend time with my mother. The few friends I'd managed to hold onto were like me. We had no trouble leaving each other behind for this. It was coming anyway, when we went to college, so why make a fuss over it?

But that was different. This town was as big as my high school had been, and with a high school here that was a tenth of that the social atmosphere was bound to be wildly different.

For one, I'd be news. Back in Phoenix a new kid was quickly integrated into the culture. They melted away within the week. But here that would be difficult; everyone knows everyone. Even starting the new year off, there is none of the relative anonymity I enjoyed. I would be a rarity, a point of interest, a spectacle. The center of attention.

When you look like me, you're never the center of attention. Average-height with a mass of untamable curly brown hair. At the moment my skin was tan from desert life, but a few months under these clouds would fix that. Like my mother before me, I can be best described as a beanpole. It's often been remarked that given more hair I'd topple over from the weight of it. My limbs are a bit too long for the rest of me, so I'm gangly rather than graceful, awkward instead of athletic. My face was always nice enough, but I'd never turn heads. Until now.

I felt absolutely unprepared for it. Frankly, attention scared me. The most attention I'd been given had come from my mother. I was comfortable as a side character, as the quiet, lanky girl with too much hair. This would be overwhelming. People asking me awkward questions with even more awkward answers; people giving directions, advice, instruction, all unasked for. My head was sure to explode after tomorrow from overstimulation. My poor father would have to deal with his mentally weakened daughter for a while, until I got used to it or they got used to me.

After dinner we watched TV together for a bit. At nine I gave up, thanked him again for the car, bid him goodnight, and crawled into bed, trying to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught.

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**Honestly I'm surprised anyone is still reading Twilight fanfiction. Thanks. :) Next chapter is when things get good, stick with me here!**

**-Ce**


	3. Nice Ride

Sleep was fitful at best. Rain had pounded on the roof all night, keeping me awake until Christ knows when. Every time I did manage to drift off I had nightmares of drowning in puddles.

Great way to begin the day.

Dad was gone when I woke up. He had to be at the station early every morning, so I could count on that alone time, at least. I rummaged through the understocked kitchen until I stumbled across cereal, but could hardly stomach it. I'd worked myself up into an absolute nervous wreck; detested town, new school, new people. Three hours sleep was just the icing on the cake.

I showered, gave up on my hair and put it in a massive, bushy ponytail, dressed in the most nondescript clothing I owned, grabbed my keys from a hook by the door and headed out to conquer life one step at a time, beginning with my 'new' truck.

It looked even more formidable this morning. I wasn't sure who should be more afraid: me, or everyone else on the roads. The thing would come out unscathed from nearly any accident, but I'd never driven a truck before.

It could have been worse. The roar of the engine was deafening at first, but by the time I pulled into the high school I'd grown used to the noise and the bulk. I parked, but hesitated. I had to get out, go into the main office, and get my schedule; but the cab of the truck felt so _safe,_ I was reluctant to move.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to climb down. I dragged my fingers fondly along the bed as I passed. The rest of the cars in the lot were, thankfully, nearly as run-down as my own. Nothing like good old Phoenix, where every other kid drove something shiny in my neighborhood. Everything here was old, clunky, and almost well maintained.

One vehicle stood out from all the rest, though. A new, shining white Ducati motorcycle.. Next to it was a sleek grey Porsche with a soft-top convertible. It looked too expensive and beautiful to exist. On the other side was a black Audi R8. While motor vehicles had never been a particular fascination of mine, Jack could certainly go on for hours, and it's hard not to pick up on a few things. Like when someone has fantastic taste in them. Whoever these people were, in this tiny town, with these amazing things, deserved at least a compliment for their choices in transportation.

Especially whoever owned that motorcycle.

I stepped reluctantly into the front office to meet my doom.

Doom took the form of a sweet-looking receptionist who smiled brightly at me as I sulked through the doorway. "You must be Cassandra Reed! Your father said you'd be in this morning. I've got your schedule right here, dearie." She slid a piece of paper across the desk to me. "And here's a map. It won't take you too long to figure out, I'm sure." Another piece of paper. My attempt at a polite smile came across as a grimace, which only made the secretary's smile sweeter. "Don't you worry, I'm sure you'll feel right at home in no time!"

This smile worked out better, and I slowly turned and walked back out into the milling students. About half of them noticed that I didn't belong, and they stared and whispered and pointed as they passed. I half sighed, half groaned and stuck my nose in the map to find my first class. After a good amount of wandering, I found it.

The teacher, Mr. Martin, was a large old man with a cup of black coffee in front of him. I quickly introduced myself — "Oh! The chief's daughter!" — and he gave me a seat to the side of the room. Kids who were already seated craned their necks unashamedly to look at me, and the ones who walked in also stared openly. Whispering ensued among about half of them, along with pointing I could see from the corner of my eye. This was going to be a very long day. I adjusted myself so they didn't think I could see them and pretended to be engrossed in my empty notebook.

"You're Cassandra Reed, right?" I looked up at the owner of the voice and nodded. "I'm Devon Baker."

I shook his extended hand and found it sweaty. He had unruly blond hair and a nervous, smiling face. "Cass." I corrected him.

"So, erm, you're from Arizona?"

"Phoenix."

"Really?" His eyes widened. "Wow, it must be weird coming here from such a big place."

I shrugged, looking away, hoping he'd stop talking to me. People were staring at _us_ instead of at me. "Yeah, kind of."

Devon said something else, and I nodded slightly, holding a polite expression on my face, begging the bell to ring. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long for my new classmates to realize I wasn't that interesting. I knew books and the desert; beyond that, my life was painfully average.

The hour consisted of normal first-day rituals. Role call, which went surprisingly quickly since the teacher already knew everyone, a syllabus, a calendar, a set of courtesy rules, and a book list. I skimmed down it, mentally checking off the ones I'd read already. About half.

Devon insisted on walking me to my next class, awkwardly asking questions and not knowing what to do with my one-word answers. It was an uncomfortable three minutes.

Essentially the same thing happened in my next few classes. Some brave soul decided to start a conversation and discovered that I wasn't conversational. In Spanish, a girl named Sophie either ignored or didn't notice my anti-social attitude, chattered in my ear the whole hour, and invited me to sit with her at lunch. I'd made my first friend.

The lunch room was small. Sophie's table consisted of mostly girls, with Devon from first hour and a brown-haired boy named Jackson, who I also recognized from English. A tall blond girl named Valerie seemed about as shy as me, and we exchanged hesitant smiles as we shook hands. As the group settled down into what seemed like a regular routine, I was left free to people-watch.

For the most part it was a normal high school lunchroom. Unassuming teenagers mingled, staring at me only occasionally. But there was one group that stuck out as... abnormal.

Their table was in the back corner of the room, close to the fire exit. There were three boys, all distinctly different. The largest one had the look of a bodybuilder, with biceps stretching the sleeves of his sweater. He must have been nearly seven feet tall. I could see that even though he was sitting down. His broad face was full of mischievous laughter as he talked to one of the girls. The second boy was only slightly smaller, with curly, golden hair tied back in a ponytail. His build was more that of a swimmer than the football player next to him, but with such a serious face I wondered who would win in a fight. The third boy was clearly the smallest of the three, with unkempt red hair that looked like fire against his pale skin. He was thin, lanky, built like a runner. He looked to be about my age, whereas his companions could have been in college. His face was calm, thoughtful, but somehow irritated at the same time.

The differences between the two girls were just as striking. The one by the bodybuilder had a body any girl in the room would kill for. Tall, perfectly curved and proportioned. Her long blond hair waved down her back and rippled like water when she moved her head. The other girl was tiny, smaller than me, with short, jet black hair that was so spiked it looked like a halo, thin Asiatic eyes — Japanese, maybe?

Despite these differences, they were oddly similar. They were all paler than the whole school combined, and their eyes had a dark, almost haunted cast to them. Their faces were distinctly different as well, but they were all perfectly symmetrical, angular, identical in their perfection. Everything about them was beautiful, as if an artist had chosen to make statues of the ideal person and created these five specimens. It was hard to look away from that kind of thing, and I found myself trying to pick my favorite, as if they were pieces of candy on display. I was torn between the thin redhead boy and the glowing golden girl.

The large boy and the blond girl spoke animatedly to each other, but the other three looked dreadfully bored. They didn't look at each other or make any attempt to join the conversation, they just sat there. Without warning the tiny, dark-haired girl stood, dumped her untouched lunch tray, and left, so quickly and gracefully that it looked rehearsed. None of the others seemed to have noticed.

I gently nudged Sophie out of her conversation. "Who are they?" I tried to keep my voice as quiet and incurious as possible, but the moment the words left my mouth the thin boy with fiery hair looked up at us. His face remained completely devoid of emotion as his eyes flashed from Sophie, to me, and back to his blank contemplation of the wall. I automatically looked away, pretending I hadn't seen him and wasn't talking about him.

Sophie giggled and tossed her hair, eyes still fixed on the one who'd looked at us. "That one is Simon Hightower. The big one and the girl that just left are Brandon and Wren Hightower, and the two blonds are Bethany and Josiah Parker."

"They're related?" The three Hightower kids looked _nothing_ alike. I could kind of see the blonds as siblings or cousins, Bethany the supermodel and Josiah the swimmer, but not the others.

"Well, not really." Sophie continued, finally tearing her eyes away from the disinterested Simon. "Those three were adopted by Dr. Hightower and his wife. Bethany and Josiah are siblings though. Mrs. Hightower is their aunt or something."

"Oh. That was nice of them."

She giggled. "It's weird, though, because they're all _together._ Bethany and Brandon, and Josiah and Wren. And they live in the same house!"

My eyebrows went up involuntarily. Yeah, that was a bit strange; from her tone, it was obvious that they were the subject of gossip among her friends. "What about Simon?" The youngest boy looked oddly alone now. He appeared to be muttering to himself, or his siblings, who had stopped talking.

Her expression immediately calmed. "He's not really the type."

"What?" So, was he gay, or just a recluse?

"Apparently, none of the girls here are good enough for him."

It took a reasonable amount of effort not to smirk at my new friend. I glanced back over at Simon, and his dark expression had lightened slightly. Almost as if he were smiling.

"They're all quite attractive." It seemed appropriate to continue the conversation with her. "Have they always lived here?"

She shook her head and returned to her lunch, obviously unwilling to talk about it anymore. "They moved here from Alaska two years ago."

Well, at least I wasn't the only one.

The remaining four left their table after a few minutes, each as graceful as the little one, Wren, had been. It was disconcerting to see these four beautiful people walk so casually through a room filled with average high school kids. They ignored the students entirely. There were a few stares from my peers, only slightly curious, but for the most part no one seemed to find them too interesting anymore.

Valerie walked with me to our fifth hour, Biology. She was as I expected from my first impression. About as shy as I was, but nice on a level beyond politeness. I found her to be absolutely endearing. She didn't ask me awkward questions about where I was from and why I was here, but seemed more interested in how my day was going. When we entered the classroom I parted from the first non-forced conversation I'd had all day and sat at my assigned seat, since apparently only biology classes need name tags anymore.

The room was arranged with two people to a desk, and the name taped to the other side of my desk caught my attention. The name was soon followed by it's owner.

Simon Hightower sat quickly. After a quick glance at me, he turned away, cupped his chin in one hand, traced circles on the desk with the other. His hair looked even more brilliantly crimson up close, and he ran his long, pale fingers through it constantly, like a tick.

Simon verged on breathtaking up close, and I admired him unashamedly for a moment. He had dark blue eyes that focused intensely on his circles without really seeing them. His face was perfectly smooth, with features that flowed into one another like a landscape. His thin mouth smiled subtly while the rest of his face seemed to be brooding, like some kind of living Mona Lisa. Given the chance, I could have stared for hours just looking for a flaw. He stopped his circling to look at me again. I flashed him a pained smile, the only kind I'd been able to manage on this glorious day, and pulled out a notebook for when class started.

It took a good portion of my self control not to keep looking over at him. Even then I slipped. I tried to pay attention and take notes, read the syllabus and all that jazz, but it was boring and Simon was distracting. He made no effort to take notes, or even pay attention from what I could tell. He just sat, stone-faced, staring blankly at the board. Once, halfway through the hour, he was looking at me when I glanced up. His piercing blue eyes locked onto my hazel, and for a moment he looked perplexed, then frustrated, angry, and suddenly indifferent. The change of emotion on his face was so fast that I didn't have time to get over the shock of him looking at me. His pose of paying attention had looked so solid, concrete, that I hadn't even considered him moving. Before I could process what had just happened, he was back in it, staring blankly at the board.

Those dark eyes were burned into my skull. I couldn't shake them from my vision for the rest of the hour, but I didn't dare look at him again. The split second Simon looked angry made me glad he hadn't introduced himself. That would have resulted in a conversation, and I might have said something to make him mad. There was something lurking beneath his strange, beautiful exterior, and while I was generally a curious person, it didn't seem prudent to find out what it was.

As soon as the bell rang he was out of his seat and gone out the door. I was left staring in shock after him. There had been no reason for him to run out the door like that, but after a moment I realized there was no real reason for him to stay either. I shrugged it off, stood, and gathered my books for my next class.

"Hey Cass, what do you have next?" Devon had been behind me the whole time. I blushed slightly, realizing that he must have seen me staring at Simon.

"Gym." Whoopie. Gym. The most useless class on the face of the planet; here, go pretend to exercise for an hour.

Devon's face brightened. "Hey, me too!"

I smiled at him, which he took as permission to walk with me the whole way. "So, what's up with that Simon kid?" I asked.

He shrugged. "He's kind of weird. Never talks to anyone or does anything in class."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Devon was clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "None of them do." As if that explained everything.

I nodded and let him change the subject. So he was always like that. Well, at least I wouldn't have to talk to him unless we had a lab. It'd be a nice break from the pestering of everyone else; the day was almost over, and the attention was beginning to wear on me. Listening to the same questions, repeating the same answers, trying to ignore the obvious stares. It got tiring after a while. All I wanted to do was get back to the house and bury myself in a book. Gym got in the way, though; we went over basic rules, the calendar, and were handed uniforms. Devon kept trying to come over and talk to me, only to be reprimanded at every turn. My mind kept flashing back to Biology, the way Simon's expression had flickered through those emotions so quickly. It was unnatural. Just thinking about him put me off, and I couldn't place why.

The bell rang. Finally. Devon asked me if he could walk me to my car, and as much as I wanted to refuse, it felt rude.

"How'd your first day go, Cass?"

Even though I'd insisted everyone call me that, it felt strange coming from him so casually, as if he'd known me more than five hours. "Good." For some reason the word 'awkward' wouldn't come out of my mouth.

"What was your favorite part?"

Watching you trip over a rogue volleyball and fall flat on your face. "I'm not sure yet, maybe I'll know tomorrow."

As we approached the parking lot, people from my classes began waving to me. I waved back, wishing I wasn't walking with Devon, but tried to keep him from asking questions with my waving. The five Hightowers were ten feet in front of us, and I watched with little surprise as they approached the three vehicles I'd noticed this morning. Bethany the supermodel and Brandon the bodybuilder got into the Audi together; Wren and Josiah took the Porsche. Simon approached the Ducati. I stared openly as he climbed on, wearing a black leather jacket and a helmet the color of his hair. As he revved the engine, I could have sworn he gave me one last perplexed look before speeding off campus.

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**Screw reliability. I'll post each chapter I've got one a day or so, and if there's interest I'll keep writing once I've posted it all.**

**Also, motorcycles are infinitely superior to Volvos. Might as well make this fun while we're at it, right?**

**-Ce**


	4. Inquisitive Much?

One more night of this rain and I'd probably collapse in the middle of school. Endless pounding on the roof above my bed was a terrible way to try to sleep; it wasn't even pounding, really, just a series of sharp little thuds that happened too quickly and randomly to get used to. It was like trying to fall asleep to the sounds of Chinese water torture. It made my nights restless and my days gloomy. The only thing that kept me in good spirits the next morning was the prospect of my nice, big, loud truck for the ten minute drive to school.

Because of the insistent pounding over my head, I woke up for good an hour earlier than I'd planned. This gave me time to actually do something with my impossible hair, like make it look presentable, and throw on clothes that sort of matched. As I examined myself in the mirror, I got the overall impression of 'good enough' and left it at that.

Dad was off at work again. I'd seen him briefly the evening before, for dinner and an hour of television. We weren't comfortable around each other quite yet. At best it would take us a week.

School ended up being exactly what I'd expected. There were fewer stares and introductions, less whispering and general awkward. Except with Devon. That boy was absolutely impossible.

"Hi Cassandra!"

"Cass." I forced a smile in greeting.

"Oh. Right." His face fell, only to be brought right back up again. "How was yesterday?"

I shrugged, picked up a pencil and began doodling on a piece of paper. "Alright, I guess."

"You guess?"

One of my eyebrows raised speculatively at him. "Yeah. I guess."

As soon as I decided I'd taken my mild antagonism too far, he perked up and kept asking questions. "What wasn't so great about it?"

"You know, this and that."

"That's not very specific."

I sighed. Being rude to Devon on my second day in town probably wasn't going to get me off on the right foot. "There wasn't anything specific that went wrong, Devon, or anything specific that went right. It was just a day."

The bell rang, saving me from more awkward conversation. It could have been good, but something about that kid set my teeth on edge; his greasy hair maybe, or the vacant look in his eyes when he stared at me. He was nice enough, I guess, and I didn't know him well enough to judge, but he was so persistent. I was hardly used to being here; dealing with new people on top of that was just too much.

Mr. Martin began his lesson, breaking us into groups and leaving us to our own. My group consisted of Devon and Jackson, from the lunch table. We were supposed to be reading a short story together and discussing symbolism, but because I'd read it last year, I spent the session doodling. Jackson didn't care. Devon kept trying in vain to include me. I answered his questions shortly and absently, making Jackson snicker with my understated sarcasm, which continued to go over Devon's head. By the end of the hour I had almost no sympathy for the kid.

Second hour Precalc was nap-worthy. I'd always been decent at math, but it was never a compelling subject for me. As it turned out, Valerie had that class with me, and we spent the lecture passing notes. I asked her about Simon. He'd been floating around in my head since yesterday, and while I was normally pretty good at figuring people out, he was an anomaly. His strange but compelling appearance, the subtle tension in him and his silence.

He kept looking at you in Bio. Valerie wrote. What? I could have sworn it was the other way around. I told her so, and was met with this response: It was funny to watch. When you weren't looking, he was. Except for that one time when our eyes met. Jesus, it was such an odd moment. I changed the subject on the note, but my mind kept reeling.

Sophie walked with me from Spanish to lunch. Her chattering was endless; it was as if she was trying to fill me in on all the gossip of the two years I'd missed at Forks High School. I smiled and nodded obligingly, putting on expressions of shock and disgust at all the right moments. She was encouraged and didn't stop until we'd been at the table for five minutes, when she broke mid-sentence.

"Simon Hightower is staring at you, Cass."

I turned to look at the table where he sat with his family. They spoke quietly to each other, all except Simon, who was, as Sophie said, staring at me. A smirk touched the corners of his pale mouth, but his eyes were frustrated as they met mine. I held his gaze across the room. Sophie's eyes darted between us, always lingering on Simon before checking to see if I was still staring.

"Um, Cass?"

"Mm?" I grunted my acknowledgement, determined not to lose this.

"What are you doing?"

That was a great question. What was I doing? Having a staring contest with a boy I'd never spoken to, but was obviously curious about me for some reason. "Defying expectations." I replied quietly. Now what had made me say that?

"I see..." She said, and turned to another conversation.

Eventually I got frustrated with him. He hadn't even blinked as far as I could tell. As much as I hated giving up, I had to drop his gaze. From the corner of my eye I saw him turn away, a gesture that looked satisfied for some reason. When I entered Biology with Valerie I was relieved to see that his seat was empty. It would be filled momentarily, of course, but it gave me a minute or so of peace.

I tried to look busy by doodling. It was an obsession of mine; I drew intricate designs in the margins of every sheet of paper given to me. I'd gotten rather good at it, if I do say so myself, and it had become a habit. My teachers back in Phoenix hated it, and it wouldn't be long before these ones did as well.

"Cassie Reed, right?"

I jumped. The words were low and quiet, as if he'd said them under his breath. Simon, of course. I looked up at him and quickly away. "You scared me." He hadn't made a sound when he sat down.

"I noticed."

"How long have you been there?" Not like it mattered if he saw my doodles.

He shrugged; a quick, casual gesture that looked out of place for some reason. "A minute, maybe. Two." I scooted my chair slightly away. It was really hard to talk to him when he was looming like that, those blue eyes boring into me. "You didn't answer my question, though."

"Question? Oh, right." Why was I so flustered? "Yes. I'm Cassandra Reed. You're Simon Hightower."

He smiled, folding his hands beneath his chin, eyes twinkling. "The same." I blinked at him for a moment before returning to my margin molesting. Our odd staring incident at lunch was forefront in my mind, but it didn't seem appropriate to bring it up right now. Or bring anything up. While I was certainly curious about this weirdly attractive stranger, I was quite content not talking to him. I'd always been more an observer than anything; I could learn more by watching him than talking to him.

Obviously, he was not of the same opinion. "How do you like Forks?"

"I don't." Evasive bluntness hadn't worked with Devon, but straight bluntness might work for this one.

"Oh?" It was an indication to continue, which I ignored. "Why are you here then?"

"Because I wanted to spend a year with my father." True to an extent, and simple enough to prevent further questions. But something I had yet to learn about Simon is that he always had another question.

"What about your mother?"

"What about my mother?"

"Why don't you want to live with her anymore?"

I looked up at him from my nearly-filled margin. "That's not really your business, you know."

He smirked. "Yes, I do. But I'm still curious."

There was something odd in the way he spoke. It was lilting, verging on musical. His pronunciation didn't have the same harsh, casual air as that of an American teenager. Every syllable was enunciated carefully; practiced, refined. He sounded like he'd just returned from a month in the UK and hadn't quite shaken off their accent.

I pursed my lips. "I have no reason to tell you about my family."

Our eyes were locked again. He seemed to be trying to push me with them, as if staring at me long enough would make me speak. Finally, just as the bell rang, he smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, and turned away. "Fair enough." He muttered, resuming his pose of attentiveness. I watched him for another moment before returning to my drawing. Something about the conversation had frustrated me, and I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Maybe his inexplicable curiosity, or the questions he'd asked. Everyone else wanted to know what Phoenix was like; he wanted to know what made me leave it.

I made a point of not looking at him. Part of me was afraid he'd look back; those dark eyes threw me off. I'd never seen such a color. The rims of his irises were black, but lightened as they reached his pupils. It was like staring into an ocean, or maybe a night sky as it approached dawn. We kept our heads bent over the worksheet. I finished it quickly and immediately attacked the margins with my pen. From the corner of my eye I could see him sitting there, stone still, staring vacantly at the board. The bell rang, and he was once again out of his seat and through the door before anyone else had even realized class was over.

What a weird guy.

Devon greeted me as I gathered my stuff. I smiled back, and the interrogation began. "What did you think of the worksheet?"

I shrugged. "Easy."

He looked crestfallen. "Really? I couldn't figure it out at all."

"I've done this before."

"Oh." He floundered for a subject. "How'd you get Simon to talk to you?"

My head snapped up. "What?"

"Simon never talks to anyone."

Right. That. "I don't know, he felt like introducing himself, I guess." And sticking his nose in my business.

Simon's newfound social activity must have been rarer than I'd originally thought; on the way to gym, kids from my Biology class were giving me odd looks and whispering to their friends. Was this really that big of a deal? Were the Hightowers so closed off that a short, insignificant conversation like that caused this much of a stir?

Gym was tolerable. I didn't die playing volleyball, at least. At this point I recognized most of the students, and their names were beginning to stick. By this time next week, I'd probably be able to give their middle names, too. The curse of small-town life. Devon walked with me to the parking lot again, giving me a full description of the volleyball game I'd been there for. The rain had finally abated, and I looked gratefully at the still-clouded sky, a smile touching my lips. Tonight, I may just get some sleep.

It took me a moment to realize that Devon had stopped talking and that the voice in my ear certainly was not his. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Simon had fallen in step on the right side of me. He held his worn riding jacket loosely at his side and kept his left hand in his pocket.

I nodded absently and returned my attention to the sidewalk. "It's not raining." I said. As far as Forks went, this was immaculate weather.

He laughed under his breath. "And is that good enough for you?"

"I'll take what I can get."

Devon had drifted off to his car without so much as a goodbye; this tall, pale, red-haired recluse obviously intimidated him. I didn't blame him. Simon grinned impishly as he approached his motorcycle. "See you at lunch tomorrow, Cassie." I watched again as he slipped the jacket over his shoulders and picked his helmet off his seat. Every motion was fluid, as if the series of movements required to put on his gear and get on the motorcycle were really just one. I watched again with envy as that immaculate vehicle rode away, trying not to compare it to my bulky truck.

* * *

**I haven't even started yet.**

**I have a follower! Hello! Welcome!**

**-Ce**


	5. Sunburn is Unpleasant

I went to my third day of school fairly well-rested. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it stopped raining at about eleven. But I prefer to think I adjusted to meet the weather, not the other way around.

Devon hadn't given up on me yet. We sat at a table in the back of the room with Jackson, pretending to annotate the short story. "So Cass, how do you like Forks?"

"About as much as I always have." Not much.

"You've been here before?"

He couldn't put two and two together, could he? I knew that he knew about my family situation; my mom running out on my dad had provided a good chunk of gossip for this small town seventeen years ago. Was he so dense to think I'd never been back to see my father? "I visit my dad here every summer."

"Oh?" He looked appropriately shocked. "Since when?"

"Birth."

Devon blinked while Jackson snickered. "I've never seen you."

I shrugged, picking up the short story and jotting a note in the margins. "I spent the time with my dad."

He ran out of questions and changed the subject back to English. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to shake him by the end of the week.

Lunch had the potential to be normal. I spent the hour chatting with Sophie, Valerie, and Jackson, trying not to be incredibly rude to Devon, and avoiding the watchful eyes of my new stalker. Sophie had spent her life in Forks with her parents and younger brother, and wanted to at least leave and go to college. Valerie had a similar plan, but intended to live in Olympia, or a suburb of Seattle. Jackson didn't care what he did, as long as it involved leaving and never coming back — preferably some sort of world travel. Devon didn't seem to have any ideas.

As much as I tried to pay attention, Simon's eyes nagged at me like a bug in my hair. I could feel them, but I couldn't see them, and I was too afraid to turn around and meet them. It was easier to pretend he didn't exist.

Until Biology, when it became impossible. He sat and leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and watched me doodle.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, so quietly that I knew only I could hear him.

I shrugged. "It's something to do." My whisper sounded painfully loud compared to his, and I looked around to make sure no one else had heard.

"But why?" His tone was frustrated. He turned his head slightly to look at me, and I looked back.

"Why do you care?"

His face tensed, and I saw another flicker of anger before he regained control. "Because I don't know what you're thinking."

"You're not supposed to."

A rueful smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Usually I can tell what people are thinking," he explained as if to a child, "but with you, I can't."

"Good." Maybe if I prodded him enough, he'd crack.

Those dark eyes flashed dangerously again. "What an impossible little girl." He mumbled to himself, but he wasn't quiet enough.

"Excuse me?" I basically screeched it. Whoops. The room became dreadfully silent and Ms. Fleming stared indignantly at me.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Miss Reed?"

How I hate that phrase. "No, Ms. Fleming." I said sweetly. "Nothing I'd like to share with the class." She gave me the evil teacher look, turned, and continued writing on the board. The class settled back into their side conversations and I glared openly at Simon.

"Impossible little girl?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged. "An exaggeration, perhaps."

"Oh, give me a break." I rededicated myself to my boxes and loops, throwing my extra energy into the sketch.

"Am I annoying you?" There was a smirk in his voice. Obviously, he didn't care whether he was or not.

"Yes, actually, you are."

"What an amazing thing." He mused. I bit back the rude remark at my lips and forced myself to ignore him, but he would not relent. "You didn't answer my question."

"And you didn't answer mine."

"I asked first."

I glared at him. "If I answer, will you leave me alone?"

Ms. Fleming turned and stared at us meaningfully. We were obediently silent. That is, of course, until she turned back around.

"I'll think about it." He said, and I figured that was the best I could hope for right now.

I sighed. "I do this because it keeps me from fidgeting. I find it relaxing, and it lets me think—uninterrupted."

"What do you think about?"

I clenched my teeth. "What happened to leaving me alone?"

He grinned. "I'm still thinking about it."

"Yeah, so am I."

There it was again. That flash of anger that made me think he was dangerous. But how could he be dangerous? He wasn't too much taller than six feet and he didn't look too strong. He was toned, but not muscular; between him and his brothers I'd never pick Simon for winning a fight. It was in his eyes, then; he looked competent, confident in whatever abilities he had. And for some reason, I was poking holes in that confidence. This provided enough satisfaction to lighten my mood.

With another look from Ms. Fleming, Simon prudently decided to stop pestering me. When the bell rang I was the first out of my seat and through the door. I felt only the slightest pang of regret about Devon, who undoubtedly wanted to walk to class with me again, but it wasn't nearly enough to make me turn back around.

He caught up to me in gym, however. "What was up in Biology today?"

I served the volleyball and tried to watch it while I answered. "Simon was bugging me, that's all."

"How?"

All these boys with their questions! "Just an off day, I guess."

"What did he say to make you freak out like that?"

I gave Devon a withering look that he really didn't deserve, but it made me feel better. "He was being rude. Don't worry, Devon, I've got it covered."

"You sure?" He dove just in time to hit the volleyball over the net.

Was he really offering to beat Simon up for me? Somehow the image of those two wrestling made me laugh, if only because Devon would lose. "Yeah, don't worry about me."

He looked unconvinced, but also relieved. "Whatever you say."

Good, he was learning.

Devon decided to walk me out again. Today it was drizzling, a misty drift of water hitting my face every step. I groaned and gave Devon one-word answers to his awkward questions.

"Does it ever rain in Phoenix?"

"Sometimes."

"How often?"

"Rarely."

"I don't think I'd like it."

Another voice saved me. "Probably not. Sunburn is... unpleasant." Simon. Of course. He looked at Devon, who was glaring at him from behind me. Somehow he made that comment sound like a threat.

Devon, in his eternal social genius, huffed and pouted as he walked away. I sighed with relief. "Thanks."

He smirked. "Still want me to leave you alone?"

"I might reconsider."

"I'm glad." He glanced over to his family's corner of the lot, where his siblings watched us curiously. "See you tomorrow, Cassie."

Once again, I stood at the curb and watched him climb on his motorcycle. He drove right by me, and I swear he winked as he rode away.

* * *

I had the afternoon to myself. Dad wouldn't be home until five, and I took the time to finish unpacking, something I'd put off for no good reason. My homework was in my backpack, but that same streak of procrastination told me to ignore it and do something else. So I sent my mom one of those 'hey, the plane didn't crash' emails. Which took about five minutes.

If the rain didn't drive me mad, the boredom certainly would.

I had filled my carry-on with books, but they were my favorites; my comfort reads, the ones I turned to when I needed to stop thinking. Nothing particularly new and exciting. I heaved a large sigh and collapsed on my bed. What was I going to do with myself? The aloneness I could manage easily, but how to fill it was another matter entirely.

Finally I gave up and went downstairs to watch TV.

By the time Dad got home, I could have kissed him. "Hi Dad." My tone was unreasonably cheerful, but the return of my father meant some form of entertainment.

Even he noticed. "Hey, Cass, good day?"

"What makes you say that?" Yup, too cheerful.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. How's school going?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"Make any friends?"

"Sort of." I joined him in the kitchen and plopped myself in a chair while he rummaged for food. "Sophie Vale is really nice, she's sort of welcomed me into her cult." He turned and gave me a look. I grinned at him. "Kidding, kidding. Valerie Jones is adorable. Devon Baker seems to like me." Far, far too much. He nodded in recognition as I listed off a few more names. "And Simon Hightower won't leave me alone."

Dad's head popped out of the fridge. "The doctor's boy?"

I nodded. "He keeps talking to me."

"And you don't want him to?" There was mild threat in his voice. Interesting, I hadn't pinned my father as the type to use his authoritative position for personal reasons.

"No, it's fine. It's just... unexpected, I guess." There was silence as he pulled things out for dinner. "How much do you know about that family?"

"Not much. They've been here for, oh, two years or so. Moved from Alaska, apparently the Doctor's wife wanted a small town. We're lucky; he's an incredible surgeon."

"What's up with all the foster kids, though?" I tried not to sound insulting, and failed. Miserably.

He gave me a hard stare. "Those kids never give me any trouble. They're good in school, they mind their own business, and they follow the rules. That's more than I can say about most kids around here."

His defensive tone intrigued me. "Do people not like them?" I'd gotten that impression from kids at school, but I'd attributed it to jealousy.

Dad grimaced. "People around here don't like newcomers, and the doctor and his family aren't the most social group. They keep to themselves, it's easy for rumors to start in a place like this."

"But it's been two years; shouldn't everyone be over it by now?"

He shook his head. "You've got a lot to learn about this place, Cass."

"Guess so."

If the Hightowers kept to themselves, why was Simon talking to me? The most obvious was that he had a crush on me, but there was more to it than hormones. He wasn't trying to woo me, he was trying to figure me out. Picking at my brain, testing my limits. To him, I was an anomaly.

My mind reeled with unanswered questions when I went to sleep, and I was so distracted by my thoughts that I forgot to let the rain keep me awake.

* * *

**Next chapter: Lyle.**

**-Ce**


	6. Go Fish

Fridays at my father's house had a peculiar rhythm. When they weren't on one of their semi-monthly fishing trips, Frank and his son Lyle would come over for dinner. Dinner involved takeout pizza, beer, and ice cream. Instead of sitting at the table like normal people, Frank and Henry plopped themselves ceremoniously on the couch to shout at football. Or basketball. Or baseball. Or golf. My father's recent acquisition of a DVR only made these evenings worse.

Neither Lyle or I had any interest whatsoever in sports. More often than not, these semi-weekly events resulted in Frank and Henry yelling in the living room while me and Lyle played Rummy.

Or Go Fish.

"Twos?"

"Nope."

"Bitch."

"Just draw."

Our reunion had been standard, to say the least.

"Ha!" He shoved the card in my face from across the table. "Suck it!" He'd drawn a two. "Kings?"

"Screw you." I tossed him my pair.

His evil victory cackle was answer enough.

Lyle took after his mother more than his father — olive skin, soft face, warm smile, curly black hair. He was a small guy, even for fifteen, but quick and nimble. He'd been lucky to inherit coordination and an acute sense of smell. We'd been thrown together since we were infants, due to Frank's friendship with my father, and as such had developed a close bond. In many ways, we were like siblings. Lyle would make this year completely tolerable.

"So, did you catch any fish?" They'd been out fishing again, got back in this morning.

He shook his head. "Those two kings."

I rolled my eyes. "No, real fish."

Lyle scoffed and flashed his dad a look. "Nope. Never do. Fives?"

"Nope. Why do you even go then?"

He shrugged. "Habit, I guess."

I grunted in response. "Sevens?"

He tossed one my way. "So I missed the first week of school. Anything interesting happen?"

I shrugged. "Not really. Apparently I'm interesting." He laughed. "And apparently Simon Hightower talking to me is weird."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, a bit."

"What's so weird about it?" Getting Lyle's input on this would be nice; he'd lived here his whole life, knew everyone — his dad was the mayor, for Christ's sake. And we were close enough that he'd be honest with me.

He shrugged, flipped a card around for me to see. I shook my head and he drew as he spoke. "Well, they just don't talk to anyone. Ever. Wren hisses at people occasionally, Brandon challenged a senior last year to a duel. That's it."

"A duel?"

"Yup. A duel."

"But Simon has _never_ spoken to anyone?"

"Not without them talking first, I don't think. They'll answer questions in class, but the teachers never call on them anymore because they're always right. I had Film Lit with Simon last year. He had most of the movies we watched memorized."

_"Memorized?"_ Incredible as it was, I didn't find it all that surprising.

"Yeah, I caught him mouthing the dialogue all the time."

"Maybe he just needs a hobby."

Lyle snickered as I drew a card. "Well, yeah, but still."

"So why do you think he's talking to me? Fish."

He made a face. "No clue. Maybe you're kindred soul, with that whole antisocial thing."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Sevens?"

"No dice."

He drew, set down a triple. "Simon Hightower… Yeah, I don't know about that one, Cass. He's weird. Stuck up, standoffish, always has that look on his face."

"What look?"

"Like something smells."

"Really? I haven't seen it. Maybe _you_ smell."

He smirked at me, a twinkle in his brown eye. "Maybe."

And so our game continued. At about ten Frank and Henry decided to call it a night. Dad pulled their coats from the closet and sent them off. I waved by the door until they'd driven off. More confirmation that Simon was just weird.

"Well, night Cass." Dad headed up the stairs and into his room. Yelling at the football game was tiring stuff.

"Yeah, night." I stayed awake for a while and made a dent in my homework, then followed him up to bed. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

After a while, people began to relax around me and go back to their normal order of things. I was grateful, to say the least; I'd been expecting much more of a fuss, but I either overestimated myself or underestimated my classmates. They didn't stop talking when I was near, they didn't notice every move I made, and they were almost done staring.

Except Simon. He simply wouldn't let up.

He kept asking questions. When's your birthday? What's your favorite band? Book? Color? What's your mother's name? Your middle name? How much time do you spend reading every day? Have you found a job? What do you think of the English syllabus?

For a while, I wished he'd stop. Things were settling down nicely, and he was stirring them up with his curiosity. His attention was disconcerting, and if I chose to see it that way, creepy. Maybe it just freaked me out that someone returned my interest. Or maybe he was a prowling serial killer and I was his next target.

Despite my initial resistance, most of these questions resulted in conversations that lasted the hour. He always found another question, or encouraged me to continue talking with full statements and opinions. Our conversations hardly ceased, and by the time the allotted hour was up, neither of us had done any work. If Ms. Fleming made us keep quiet we wrote notes. I found him to be amicable, inquisitive, and inconsistent.

Sophie was jealous. Simon's obvious interest in me baffled her. I couldn't blame her, really; she was prettier, with her smooth blond hair, a good figure and a nice face. She had none of the sharp angles that dominated my body. Not to mention her bubbly personality. But while she was superior to me in looks and social interaction, Simon watched _me_ from across the room. Sophie pursed her lips anytime she noticed it. I tried not to look back at him, but I could feel him staring at me, as if he were trying to read me just by how I ate my tuna sandwich.

After a month and a half of this, I came to the rather odd realization that we were friends. And that I didn't know him at all.

He'd spent an incredible amount of time getting to know me, but had deftly avoided all my attempts to pursue him in a similar fashion. Simon knew my childhood visits here, the school years spent in Phoenix, the ins and outs of my old friendships, old relationships, my mother's middle name. What did I know about him? His family had lived here two years, they were all adopted, and… their names. I resolved to rectify the situation.

My thought process on this occured during my Spanish class, about a week before Halloween, while Sophie was chattering away about God knows what. She'd remained jealous of me, but had continued to be friendly for inexplicable reasons. Politeness? Keep your enemies close? Use me to get to Simon? Whatever. I wasn't one to burn bridges.

During lunch that day, Simon's table was quiet. They were normally hushed, muttering and whispering amongst themselves, but never to the extent they were that day. They hardly moved. Wren tapped her fingers on the table tensely, Bethany and Brandon sat close but not quite touching, Josiah stared into the distance, and Simon watched me relentlessly. I raised an eyebrow at him, a question; he shook his head and looked away — an answer. Something was wrong, clearly, but chances of me hearing about it were slim.

I made the mistake of looking out the window as a distraction from Simon. I immediately groaned and looked away.

"What is it, Cass?" Devon jumped at the chance to engage me in conversation, and I managed to pretend I was rolling my eyes at the weather.

"It's _snowing."_ I said. Snow. Awful stuff; like rain, except it's colder and doesn't go away.

Everyone turned to look now. There were cries of delight and groans similar to mine. Sophie almost jumped out of her seat with excitement. "Oh, I love _snow!"_ I grimaced in disgust at them. Why did I say anything?

Devon looked at me, still grinning. "Don't you like snow, Cass?"

I shook my head vehemently. "Nope." The two or so days I'd ever spent around it had been decidedly unpleasant.

He looked disappointed and was sidetracked by Sophie, who had begun plans for a major snowball fight. I looked despairingly at Valerie. She looked down and shook her head slowly; obviously, her opinion was similar to mine. We stayed close on the way to Biology, looking around furtively in case of a snowball attack.

Simon was already in his seat. He lounged, sort of; seemingly relaxed, but still straight-backed and stiff. He glanced up at me briefly as I sat down then continued to stare vacantly at the board. I watched the door tensely. Devon had yet to enter, and I had an unreasonable fear that he was going to pelt me with a snowball in the middle of class.

A smooth laugh floated over me, and I turned to see Simon chuckling. "What on earth are you doing, Cassie?"

"Preparing to defend myself." My eyes flashed from him to the door.

His face danced with mirth. "From what, exactly?"

"Devon."

He was trying to hold back laughter, I could tell. "And what is it about Devon, of all people, that poses a danger to you?"

His infatuation with me, for one thing. "I don't trust him with all that snow."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"He recently developed an obsession with snowballs. Particularly with throwing them at people. I don't like the idea of being target practice." He'd probably see it as a courting ritual or something.

Simon froze for a moment, looking for all the world like a greek statue. "You don't have to worry about that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And why not?"

He shrugged and rested an elbow on the desk. "I'd catch it if he had one."

Confidence in good reflexes or flirting? "As encouraging as that is, I think I'll keep an eye out."

"Suit yourself." His lopsided, patronizing grin was nearly unbearable. I resumed watching the door. Devon walked in, thoroughly drenched in the head and shoulders by slush. Good. He'd been pelted with snowballs without my assistance, and didn't have one left for me. Simon caught on to my relief and laughed at me again.

"What?" I asked, though I knew exactly what.

"Nothing." He said as the bell rang, a smile still playing about his lips.

I muttered to myself and sulked in my chair as the the teacher began the lesson. About five minutes in I lost focus and started doodling in my notebook. Simon watched curiously from the corner of his eye. I snuck a look at him from time to time, and he hadn't moved a muscle. While everyone else felt the need to fidget, he was content to remain stone still.

"What was up at lunch today?" The words were out before I could stop myself — my curiosity had gotten the better of me, at last.

He stiffened, his blue eyes darkening and his hair flaring. "It was nothing, Cassie. Don't worry about it."

His tone was so final, so hard and cold, that any investigative tendencies in me were temporarily silenced. Wow. I must have hit a soft spot. Having no desire to irk him any further, I returned to my doodling, stung by his solid rejection.

* * *

**Oooooh, *~intrigue~***

**So review and stuff.**


	7. Young Devon

Devon tried to walk me out to the parking lot, but we were intercepted by Jackson.

"Hey guys! I'm planning a Halloween campout next weekend; you in?"

Ha, a what? "Um… I'll think about it. Why not a Halloween _party?"_ That sounded much warmer. And safer. And cleaner.

He shrugged. "I felt like changing it up, and it's supposed to get warm enough this weekend. It'll be fun! We can have a bonfire and tell scary stories."

"Who else would be coming?"

He shrugged. "Well, me, obviously. You two if you can. I'm inviting Sophie, Valerie, Kyle, Josephine, Eddie, Lyle—"

"Lyle!"

"You know him?" Devon's face fell slightly at my enthusiasm. I did my best to ignore him.

"Yeah, his dad and mine are best friends. I've known him forever. You guys are friends?" Lyle was homeschooled save for a couple classes he could talk his dad into — not too conducive to making friends.

Jackson shrugged. "He's my cousin. So, do you wanna come?"

"I guess so." Camping. Trees. Moss. Nature. Yay. Lyle was the motivation though; I'd never really spent time with him doing more than sitting at my house or his while our fathers watched sports. "I'll have to talk to my dad, though. He can be a bit touchy about that sort of thing."

Jackson looked perplexed, then remembered. "Oh! That's right, your dad's the chief. I forgot about that."

I laughed. "Having second thoughts?"

He shook his head. "Naw, we won't be doing anything illegal. At least, _I _won't be."

"I wouldn't say anything anyway." My father would figure it out on his own, of course.

"Awesome! Well, see you later Cass! Oh, you too, Devon!"

I waved at Jackson, then ungracefully disengaged from Devon and made my way through the lot.

I let out a breath as I approached my car. Ugh. Mondays.

"Does he expect you to come in a costume?"

I jumped and whirled around. "Jesus, Simon, quit doing that!"

"What?" He looked legitimately confused.

"Sneaking up on me."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine, just…" I shivered. Warm up this weekend my ass… "So what _was_ the deal at lunch today? You were all so quiet."

He looked away, off at his motorcycle. "Believe me, Cassie, it was nothing. See you tomorrow."

I could have sworn he reached up and brushed my cheek before he walked off, but the touch was so brief and his hands so cold it felt like my imagination. I watched him mount his motorcycle, slip on his helmet, and cruise past me.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, the snow/slush of yesterday had decided to take up permanent residence in the form of ice. I took no steps to hide my displeasure. I gave up entirely on my hair, put on my most comfortable sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, and waddled cautiously out to my car. Though there didn't seem to be any ice on the steps, I had this nagging feeling that it was lurking, waiting for me to drop my guard.

Because of how small our driveway was, I'd been condemned to parking on the street. This made my cautious walk longer. I paused to look at my truck; something was off, and it took me a moment to figure out why. Dad had put chains on the tires before he left. I made a mental note to thank him later; as a desert city girl, I'd hardly ever seen snow, let alone driven in the stuff. Or on ice. Especially not on ice. Still, I drove carefully on my way to school, entirely willing to sacrifice five minutes of English for survival.

As it turned out, I was early. Early enough to see the Hightower family parking their vehicles across the lot, at least. I clambered carefully out of my truck and hovered at the end of it, partially trying to find the best path across the ice-minefield parking lot and partially watching Simon slide gracefully out of his sister's car.

It was a difficult balance, but I made it to English unscathed.

Jackson had decided to entertain himself by flicking pencil shavings at various members of our class. Devon kept whirling around, trying to catch him at it without alerting our teacher, and failed magnificently. The whole process had me giggling under my breath for an hour.

The bell rang, I bid Jackson adieu, and my book-gathering was interrupted by Devon.

"So, Cass, um, I have a question."

No. "Yes, Devon?" I tried to keep the patronizing tone out of my voice, I really did. I picked my books up and walked to the door, almost fast enough to lose him. Not quite though.

"Well, the, erm, the school dance is coming up," yeah, in a month, "and I was wondering..."

I whirled on him before we reached the hall, my enormous ponytail flailing wildly. I opened my mouth to speak, answer before he'd asked, but manners made me stop. "What about it, Devon?"

He shuffled his feet and looked down; the room was empty now, Mr. Martin off to refill his coffee, the door wide open, begging me to escape. "Would you go with me?"

My mind had been whirling the whole time, frantically piecing together excuses that weren't complete lies. "I can't, Devon, I'm sorry." I didn't sound sorry, and his eyes hardened slightly.

"Why not?" He was so whiny.

"I'm going out of town. Seattle. Shopping." Shut up now, Cass.

He went into full-on pout mode, and I grimaced. "Please, Cass?"

Begging? He was begging me to go with him? "Devon, I said I can't."

"Can't or don't want to?"

"Both. I have to go." Nevermind that our next classes were right next to each other, so he'd be following me the whole way. I slipped past him before another dreadful word came out of his mouth. Right as I walked through the door, though, I ran into something.

Simon. Naturally. He'd been creeping outside, listening. My frustration with Devon, who was now scurrying down the hall in shame, redirected itself onto the flaming monument in front of me. I grit my teeth and took a step back. "Simon."

He nodded absently, staring over my shoulder down the hall. Now, if I were a reasonable person, I would have turned around and gone to class. The halls were thronged with students, though, and the look on his face had me mesmerized. His usual cold distance was gone, replaced by contemplative annoyance. I raised an eyebrow and decided that if he didn't say anything in three seconds, I'd leave. My fascination with him could not overpower my anger right now.

One.

Two.

"Cassie, how do you feel about young Devon over there?"

Young Devon? What the hell? I ignored the phrasing and scoffed. "Why do you care?"

"Because he's clearly infatuated with you." Simon looked down and raised an eyebrow at me.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Clearly."

"But what about you? How do you feel?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

His face sunk into a deeper frown. "No. It's not. Tell me."

Demanding much? "I think he's a twit. Why?"

His face cleared immediately. "No reason."

And with that, he disappeared into the thinning crowd. I was left staring after him for another five seconds before I realized I was almost late to class.

* * *

**Next chapter: The Accident. Stay tuned.**


	8. I Am Concussed

"Shit!"

Sophie raised an eyebrow at me, with good reason. I was bent over in my chair, digging through my stack of books.

"Carajo!" Mr. Fernandez corrected me from across the room, then returned to grading papers.

Sophie leaned over. "What is it, Cass?"

I pulled myself back up. "I forgot my Bio book in my car."

"Oh. _Biology."_

Anything even remotely Simon-related put her on edge. While I was about fed up with it, I wasn't about to start something with her. "Yeah. _Biology._ Ugh. Now I have to go get it at lunch."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's cold."

"Hmph." She wrote her name in the margins of her worksheet. "Did you see Devon this morning? He wasn't in Trig today."

"Yeah."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No."

"You're so helpful, Cass."

I sighed. "He asked me to the dance earlier, and I said no. Maybe he's hiding out in the woods in shame."

Sophie looked shocked. "What? Why?"

"Because it's embarrassing?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "No, why did you say no?"

"Because I didn't want to go with him." And I'm going to be 'out of town'. Whoops...

Her indignation was half-hearted. "Why not? He's a nice kid."

"Too nice."

"What?"

"Nevermind. I'm a bit preoccupied right now, though — in case you haven't noticed, I don't have my Bio book."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

I filled in random Spanish words on my worksheet just in time for the bell to ring. "Well, I'm going out to my car. Can't dissect mandibles without textbooks, you know."

"See you in a minute."

Once outside, I pulled my jacket tighter around me against the breeze. A few other students were out by their cars, getting things or just sitting inside them. I hopped in my truck, pulled the Bio book from underneath the passenger seat, and hopped back out.

A flash of red intercepted my vision. I turned to the front right corner to see Simon watching me intently by his family's cars. He leaned on the back of an orange Volvo, presumably his bad-weather vehicle, stretched out leisurely. I cocked my head, raised my hand to wave. A snowflake drifted onto my hand.

Screeching interrupted the stale silence of the parking lot.

Simon's perfectly calm face became clouded with an expression of unspeakable horror as he looked at me, and my irrational, fleeting thought was that my hair looked way worse than it had twenty minutes ago.

Then I saw the van hurtling towards me. One thing became absolutely clear as it closed in: I'd be crushed between it and my truck. What a dreadful way to die, too. Probably slow, with lots of internal and external bleeding. Bruises everywhere. Bones pulverized to a fine powder. I shut my eyes and prepared myself for impact, wondering if I should crouch down so it would crush my head first and I could die quickly.

What struck me in the next second, however, was most definitely not a minivan. With my eyelids still squeezed together, I felt a pair of steady arms about my waist pull me down and push me to the asphalt. A low curse in an unmistakable voice followed, punctuated by the sound of crunching, grating metal. Blood rushed from my heart to my brain and back, filling my ears with sound even after the world had gone deathly quiet.

There was a scream, the rushing of feet, the sound of my quick uneven breaths, and the steady inhale and exhale of my rescuer. I felt the hard, cold surface beneath me, and cool breathing on my neck. I opened my eyes, terrified that this was the afterlife. But what I saw above me was the underside of my truck; Simon's scarlet hair over my shoulder, his pale arms clutching my waist. I couldn't move, partially in shock and partially because Simon was so damn strong.

"Are you all right?" He asked, his voice quiet and tense.

"Yeah." If you can consider nearly being crushed to bits between two hunks of metal 'all right.' "How did you get over here?" He'd been by his sister's car, two rows away, a split second before the accident.

I felt him tense around me. "I was right here, Cassie."

Even in my state of shock I managed to look angry. "Don't lie to me."

"Please." He whispered. His voice was absolutely smoldering. While I knew he was doing his best to plead, to coax me with that tone, his manipulation worked.

"You owe me an explanation."

"Fine." He snapped, quite the switch from his compelling act only a moment before. I would have said something rude in response, but I was suddenly nauseated, and opening my mouth felt like a bad idea.

In the chaos that followed, emergency was called, the van was moved, and I failed at regaining my composure. Faces fluttered in and out of my vision, worried and upset. I hardly saw them. Simon pulled me off the ground and led me carefully to the ambulance. I looked around and saw his siblings watching with disapproval. Simon handed me off to a nurse and promptly disappeared from sight. I could hear his voice, though; calm, steady, quiet. He was talking to someone, probably explaining what happened.

"Are you all right?" This time the question came from the nurse, all business.

"I'm fine."

I was drug through the ritualistic once-over to make sure I wasn't lying. "Did you hit your head?" Because since the rest of me was obviously fine, my brain was damaged.

"No." I said. The last thing I needed was everyone to think I'd lost brain cells.

"Actually, nurse, I think that she did." Simon had appeared behind her, his face guarded and speculative. "You might want to check for a concussion."

I gave him a withering look. He nodded coldly as the nurse began _that_ examination.

They decided it was necessary to take us to the hospital. Well, _me_ to the hospital. Simon talked his way out of being taken to see a doctor, but came along to keep me company. What a gentleman.

I was led by Simon and a nurse into one of those wonderful sterile rooms. She left to go get the doctor and Simon waited with me.

"Care to give me that explanation now?" This had better be good.

He shook his head slowly. "You really should be thanking me, you know."

I stared at him blankly. Oh, right. He'd just saved my life. "Thanks." I hoped it sounded as sincere as I meant it. Because I did mean it; I just wasn't in the mood for florid gratification. "Now _how on Earth_ did you cross the parking lot in less than a second?"

His eyes turned to ice. "I was right next to you, Cassie."

I returned his look, knowing full well that I was not nearly as intimidating. "Don't lie to me."

For a split second his cold expression vanished and was replaced by curiosity, but then he composed himself. "Fine. I won't."

"Then tell me what happened."

"No."

I pursed my lips angrily. "I'll expose you." Even I knew how bad of a bluff that was.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Really? Expose me as what? And, as a side note, who would believe you? You've hit your head, remember?"

A fair number of not-very-nice words jumped to my lips, but my cursing was interrupted by the door opening.

The man who entered stunned me into silence. I immediately remembered that Simon's father was a doctor, our best surgeon. He was every bit as beautiful as his foster children; older, certainly, but no one in their right mind would have placed him over the age of twenty seven. Twenty two seemed more appropriate. He was tall, taller than Simon, with brown hair and dark grey eyes. His face was different from his son's; he had a longer, more pointed nose and a wider, fuller mouth; his eyes looked caring and cautious instead of brooding and calm. He smiled at me, and I stopped breathing.

Simon stood to greet his father and introduced me. "Father, this is Cassandra Reed, the police chief's daughter. Cassie, meet Oberon Hightower, my adoptive father."

I reached out cautiously and shook his hand. "Pleasure." I mumbled, mind reeling. Okay, gorgeous, adopted (superpowered?) children I could understand. But incredibly young foster father of teenagers who was equally breathtaking? No. Something extremely strange was going on.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine." He also had a strange, measured pace to his speech, as if he were carefully covering up an accent with perfect pronunciation. Simon stared intently at his father, reading his reaction to me. Dr. Hightower looked at him for a moment; Simon nodded slightly and the doctor turned back to me.

He knew. What ever it was, he knew. I would get no answers from either one of them. Not yet, at least.

"So, Cassandra, I hear you hit your head."

"Cass." I corrected automatically. Simon smirked, but I ignored him. "And no, I did not hit my head, nor was I injured in any way. Thanks to your son." That was a nice touch.

He absently checked me over with cold hands, obviously going through the motions. "Yes, he's quite the fellow." He murmured. I scowled and looked back at Simon, who was still watching the doctor intently, as if these lame attempts to ensure my physical well-being were giving him vital information. Maybe _he'd_ hit his head. "Well, Cassandra, you seem perfectly all right. I'd better go take a look at young Devon now; he didn't look too good when they brought him in."

My jaw dropped. "That was _Devon_ in the van?"

The doctor blinked at me. "Why, yes. It was."

I groaned. The doctor left with another meaningful look at his son. Simon's eyes were curious as he watched me. "Why does it matter?"

"Because now he'll _never_ leave me alone."

Simon grinned at me. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"I would."

His smile just widened. "If you insist."

I sighed and looked around the small room, my eyes eventually resting on the door. "Am I allowed to leave?"

"Yes. Your father is waiting for you."

"Shit." I slid off the table and reached for the handle. But Simon beat me to it, and held the door open for me. "Thanks." I muttered, turning down the hallway.

"The waiting room is to the left, Cassie."

I turned on my heel and walked past him again, this time in the right direction, refusing to respond. He watched me all the way down the hall. There was definitely something going on here, something Dr. Hightower and his family were hiding. Unless he was secretly a plastic surgeon who had an obsession with beautiful children. That _might_ explain their perfection. But then what about Simon's miraculous appearance at my side? And that quick, unnatural grace they all shared? It certainly wasn't something _I_ learned in charm school.

My father greeted me calmly in the waiting room. "Anything broken?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Good." He hesitated. "You might want to call your mother when we get back."

"You told her?" I groaned as he nodded. "Great. She's probably buying me a ticket home." Even though she wasn't at home. She usually missed details like that.

As expected, my mom was in hysterics. I had to spend ten minutes calming her down before a single coherent thought came out of her mouth. After that it was a matter of 'No, Mom, don't bring me home. I'm fine, I like it here, it was just an accident...' and the list goes on.

School had already ended for the day, thank Christ. Dad drove me back to get my truck, however, and I was shocked at how fast the cleanup had been. There were only a few trace bits of glass left, and my truck was almost entirely spotless. Well, besides the dents and scratches it had acquired before my ownership of it. There was one dent in the rear bumper where the van had struck; but as I looked closer, it started looking less like an impact site and more like a handprint. A handprint about the size of Simon's hand. As if he'd used the bumper for leverage to pull us beneath the truck to safety, and crushed the metal in the process.

I added 'incredible strength' to my mental list of abnormalities.

"Cass, what's wrong?" Dad was skeptical of my no-injuries claim, and glaring at my bumper likely wasn't improving his opinion of my sanity.

"Nothing." I quickly got in my truck and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He looked dubious, but drove back to work without complaint. I sighed and started the engine. Maybe I was just being paranoid about all of this. But paranoia and delusions are not _that_ related as far as mental diseases go, and I know what I saw. I saw Simon across the parking lot, horrified by my impending doom, and then he was here. Saving me.

* * *

**Hehehehehehe.**

**The enthusiasm displayed thus far has been sufficient to convince me to keep writing this after I've exhausted what I already have (don't worry, I have a few more chapters written).**

**So... if anything bothered you about the original series, let me know. I'll see what I can do about it. ;)**

**-Ce**


	9. Silence is Golden

The event of the accident, unlike that of my arrival, caused a stir that lasted. People kept calling, and showing up at the house to make sure I was still alive, that my concussion wasn't serious. It seemed that no matter what I did, people trusted Simon more than they trusted me. Which made sense, except that he was lying and I wasn't.

Devon was a bit more seriously injured than me. Whiplash, a real concussion, and a nicely broken arm. His stream of visitors was probably more significant, but I had no desire to take part. Visiting would only encourage him, something I _really_ didn't want to do. Some little voice in the back of my mind kept whispering that I should go see him, tell him he was forgiven, or at the very least feel guilty about not doing those things. That voice was my conscience. I silenced it and did my homework.

The enigma of Simon and his family gnawed at my brain. I spent a nice chunk of time solidifying my list of what was wrong with them; inhuman grace, speed, strength, and beauty; the illusion of youth, intelligence. They were some kind of superhumans, some evolutionary ideal. They were human, I was decided on that. But they were something else too.

The idea of supernatural beings didn't bother me. I'd been raised on ghost stories by my mother, who revelled in that kind of thing. I'd always half believed them. When the idea of supernatural beings is commonplace, the reality is easier to accept. Besides, it made my life more fun to think of the Hightowers as non-human. And Forks thought I was crazy anyway.

But what _kind_ of supernatural beings? This was a question I decided to dedicate myself to. I would bother Simon until he told me. He seemed to enjoy my conversation, so it wouldn't be a bad trade. My company for his honesty.

I went into school determined to get some answers.

Apparently the Olympic Peninsula had snowed and rained itself dry. It was cold still, but I didn't let that stop me from enjoying every unrainy moment that I could.

At school, the weird looks were back. People I'd been able to casually talk to on Friday weren't sure if I was brain damaged or not. I didn't care. My main goal was to get through until lunch, during which I was determined to confront Simon directly.

Devon was in English, with a cast on his arm and a look of shame on his face. Every once in a while, he'd turn around and try to talk to me, only to lose his nerve when he saw my face. I didn't care if it was an accident, or if I'd survived. When someone nearly rams you with a minivan, you aren't likely to be incredibly sympathetic towards them.

If I was going to get any information out of Simon about his family, I'd have to be nice. Ideas raced through my brain until lunch; an ancient elven race, returned to claim their earthly rights? Hogwarts graduates under some kind of beauty charm? Undercover CIA agents?

But _why_ would any of those be in _Forks,_ of all places?

Lunch proved interesting, if unhelpful.

"Cass, are you okay?"

"What?" I'd been craning my neck in the lunch line over the heads of average-height students, trying to catch a glimpse of that flaming hair. I'd seen Brandon and Bethany, Josiah and even tiny Wren; but no Simon. Those four had sat down while everyone else milled about like confused ants.

Sophie was clearly frustrated with my inattentiveness, when normally I was very good at smiling and nodding and tuning out. "You're looking around like a giraffe."

"My neck's not long enough."

"Are you looking for someone?" Oh, that subtle emphasis on _someone._

I nodded and tried to focus on getting to the table without running into anything. "Simon."

"Why?"

"Because I can't find him."

She grunted and walked a bit ahead of me. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes, and instead trotted to keep up with her, then—there! Simon walked in from outside, tracking in slush and shaking water from his hair. He sat down without bothering to get lunch. His siblings glanced at him curiously, but quickly returned to their usual poses.

In my past weeks of observing, I'd picked up on a few things. They were all rigidly in control of themselves, even with their natural grace. They rarely did a thing out of the ordinary; sat up straight, kept to themselves, hardly even glanced at the other students. Tight-knit and secretive, for whatever reason. I knew by now that it was more than a clash of personality with their peers, much more than a simple matter of them not fitting in. Any group of people that beautiful could fit in anywhere, and Simon was capable of smooth talking. So aside from Simon's incredible speed and strength, which I by now guessed his adoptive siblings shared, they were hiding something. And hiding it well.

And now the five were leaned in, backs to me, listening intently to whatever Simon was saying.

Not once during lunch did he look up at me. But in the next half hour, I watched his moods shift from where I was, in the tensing of his shoulders, the calming motions of his hands, the alternately amused and outraged expressions of his siblings.

What was going _on?_

I made no effort to join in the conversation at my table. Sophie threw me looks, Valerie distracted her, Jackson looked worriedly at me. I ignored all of them in favor of a family I had minimal contact with.

As lunch came to an end, I made a point of being in Biology early. Valerie didn't ask me what was going on, which was fine, since I had no good answer. So far, the Hightower family is some breed of underground, incredibly gorgeous superheroes, and by staring at them I plan to uncover all their secrets and find their lair.

Silence is golden.

I doodled distractedly until Simon sat down. He was still a bit damp; his normally crimson hair was darker, and his black t-shirt hung stiffly around his shoulders. I figured that his escapade would be as good a conversation starter as any.

"So, why were you taking a walk fourth period?"

He looked down and raised an eyebrow at me. I smiled benignly at him. He shrugged and made some pretense of looking at the blank white board. "Didn't want to go."

"Why? What class do you have?"

"English."

"What's wrong with English?"

"We were watching a movie. I've seen it." His answers were short and clipped, and he still wouldn't meet my eyes.

"So you went for a walk?"

"Yes."

I made an effort at sounding put out. "You should have brought me."

He turned in his chair and stared at me. I could feel the eyes of the classroom on us, but I had a goal.

"What?" I asked. Even with my determination, his penetrating gaze made me uncomfortable.

"You really wouldn't have liked it, Cassie."

"Oh?" My turn to raise an eyebrow. "Why not?"

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, the epitome of cool and casual. "You hate snow."

Right. That. "Maybe I've had a change of heart. Is that really the only reason?"

"Of course."

"How disappointing." I returned to my doodling. The bell rang, and Simon hadn't moved. The stone boy was back, his face in a frozen state of confusion. I tugged on one of my curls with my left hand. The teacher started talking. I put my pen down and pretended to pay attention, keeping my eyes trained on the board. Simon's entire body was still turned towards me and his eyes bored into my head.

Maybe I shouldn't have played with fire. But it's so much more fun than just sitting by him.

"What are you thinking?" His voice was barely down to the level of a whisper.

I figured I had nothing to lose by being honest. "That you have an unreasonable obsession with my thoughts."

He smirked. "I don't think it's unreasonable at all."

"Of course you don't." I petulantly went back to my doodling.

"And why do you think that is?"

We had lowered our voices sufficiently to make the class curious but not alert the teacher; I was aware of the eyes on us, Valerie two rows back, other peers with their attention divided between us and the teacher. While I was confident that no one could hear us, I responded almost under my breath.

"You're hiding something." He stiffened slightly, his smirk turning just enough to be considered a frown. "You were across that parking lot impossibly fast, you left a dent in my bumper pulling us under. You and your siblings are too beautiful to be real. I know there's more, but I don't know what. Yet."

He didn't respond at first. He turned back towards the board and stared at it, his eyes following the teacher as she moved back and forth in the front of the room. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and crossed his other arm over his chest. I waited.

"You're right." The confirmation made me jump, in excitement and shock. "But I have no intention of helping you figure anything out." Bastard. "You are on your own here, as I have no advantages with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The smirk was back, but it was bitter. "It means that we should pay attention. We have a quiz tomorrow."

I just stared at him. I didn't care if anyone noticed, the teachers or my friends. As much as I wanted to, I didn't ask him any more questions. We were at a stalemate, it seemed, but I hadn't a clue as to why. Something about me confused him, just as he confused me, and for him that was equality enough.

But damn it, I wanted _answers._

Eventually I didn't even try to listen to Mrs. Fleming. The science of living things was nothing compared to the intriguing specimen next to me. My doodles continued, convoluted and intricate. Today I was working on a maze. With many loose and dead ends, all intertwined somehow, but with no real goal besides filling up the page and creating one outcome.

The bell rang. I gathered my things slowly, methodically. Simon didn't rush out the door, but he left without a word.

* * *

**And the search for answers begins...**

**Review! :D I have lots and lots of time now to read your stuff, which I'll gladly do in exchange.**

**I was serious about the suggestions, too. I have my own plans, but there's a lot of leeway here, and I'll credit anyone if I use their ideas.**

**-Ce**


	10. I Like You

The conversation with Simon in biology had me reeling still, and I was distracted all through gym. So I was onto something. I was right. His family was hiding something, and it had something to do with their superhuman powers.

All I could think of was superheroes, mutants. Like X-Men. Some kind of underground cult society posing as a family in a tiny, rainy town? But why even be a part of society? And why _Forks?_

That's what really got me. There had to be some reason they were in Forks.

What was special about it? Semi-remote, tiny, an unknown dot on a map named after an eating utensil. Or maybe a fork in the road. A decision, a turning point.

No more metaphors. Back on subject.

So really, what was so special about Forks? It was just... Forks.

My musing was interrupted by the approach of none other than Simon. "Oh. Hi."

He nodded at me. "How was gym?"

"Fine, I guess. Just gym. Why are you still here?" School ended twenty minutes ago; the parking lot was nearly cleared out, only teachers and a few stray students remained. His siblings were gone.

He shrugged and started walking towards the lot. "I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

"You have no one to walk you to your car, today."

Devon hadn't been in gym; his injury must have excused him. It occurred to me that _I_ should have claimed a headache. "Good riddance."

"Maybe."

"What's it to you?"

"An observation." He stopped walking at the curb and turned to face me. "I wish you wouldn't try to figure it out, you know."

I stared blankly at him. "If you wanted me to know, you'd have told me already." Duh...

"And I really, _really_ don't want you to know, Cassie."

The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, and his expression was worried. Torn, almost. "Well, I really, _really_ want to know."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"It seems we have a conflict in interests, then."

He nodded. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?" He didn't meet my eyes, but looked over my head, not focussing on anything.

I sighed, looking longingly at my truck; as much as I wanted to talk to Simon, it had been a hectic day. I had a pile of homework and a book waiting for me at home. "How bad is it?" I finally asked. So far, I hadn't really considered the possibility that whatever Simon was hiding was anything terrible. Mutants and wizards sounded cool to me, but if they _were_ a reality, things could get ugly. Fast.

"I suppose that would depend on your definition of bad."

"Deadly." I wasn't afraid of much else, hardly of that even.

His dark eyes locked with mine. "Yes. It's bad."

I wouldn't let him see how disconcerting that was. "Deadly for me?"

"Particularly for you."

"Well, as long as I have a chance, I think I'll keep trying."

He smiled bitterly. "You _do_ have a chance."

It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. I didn't respond and let him walk with me to my truck. He helped me in, and his hand was ice cold. Nerves? Bad circulation? Standing outside too long? A hint?

He watched me as I drove away, and didn't move until I was out of his sight.

* * *

That afternoon, I tried not to think of Simon. I needed a break from all this. Dad was still at work, so I could turn up the radio in the kitchen and do my homework there. I started with the biology, because even if I never paid attention, it would be somewhat fresh in my mind. After that was English and math. Dad came home while I was halfway through.

"Hey Cass, how was school?"

I shrugged. "School." Imparting my Simon theories onto my father didn't seem like a good idea. With how he'd defended the doctor and his family a week ago, the chief probably wouldn't appreciate any supernatural propositions. My dad had never been into my mother's 'spiritual mumbo-jumbo' as he called it; while she went on about ghosts and karma, he grumbled about superstitious bullshit. My partial-acceptance of my mother's oddity was best kept quiet.

"Well, that's good." He hung up his coat and ambled into the TV room, turning my music down on the way in. As soon as he sat, though, the phone rang.

"I'll get it." He sunk back down. "Hello?"

_"Oh, is this Cassandra?"_

"Yes."

_"Is your father around?"_

"Yeah, one sec. Dad!" He got back up, quite unwillingly.

"Who is it?"

I shrugged and handed off the phone. He rolled his eyes at me. "Chief Reed." He grunted and nodded to the phone, and his face grew progressively more worried. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head at me. "All right. Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up. "Did you see Devon today at school?" Dad went to the coat rack and put his jacket back on.

Ugh, not this kid again. "Yeah, this morning in class. Why?"

"He's missing."

"Missing?"

"Didn't come home from school. I'm going to go figure this out. I'll be home late, Cass."

The door shut soundly behind him. Devon was missing? Had he run off after I ignored him this morning? It seemed the most plausible answer, but without knowing anything else I wasn't worried. He was probably off crying in the woods or something. I turned the stereo back up and kept working on my homework.

* * *

A half hour later the phone rang again. At first I figured it would be my father with an update, but I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

_"Cassie?"_

"Simon?"

_"Yes. Just checking."_ He hung up. My flaring indignation died when the doorbell rang. I rolled my eyes, set the phone back on the counter and opened the front door for him.

"Hello, Cassie."

"Hi Simon."

He eyed me hesitantly, waiting. His eyes bored into me almost warily, like I was about to do something unexpected. Did he think I was going to bite him or something?

"What are you doing here?" I'd been hoping for a Simon-free evening. Homework. Books. Sleep. My father's sudden departure had put only a slight dent in my plans, but Simon's sudden arrival was more significant. I glanced longingly back at my math homework.

He shrugged. "I'm not actually sure." Liar. "I felt like talking to you."

This was a recurring trend, it seemed. "Well, my dad's not home." Was I even _allowed_ to have boys over? As much as my father liked Simon, I didn't think he'd approve; but no lines had been firmly drawn, so I decided to push my luck. "But you can come on in, I guess."

Something in his smile put me off more than usual; "You guess?"

I turned and went back inside, leaving the door open for him. "Come in."

"Don't mind if I do." I could hear that infuriating smirk on his lips. "Where is your father?"

"He got called in." Simon had busied himself with looking at my yearly school pictures, lined up on the wall as a shrine to awkward adolescence. I grimaced and turned the stereo down to background level.

When I turned back around he was staring at me.

"So… do you want something to eat?" Not like I had anything to offer besides frozen pizza and raisins.

He smirked. "No thank you, I'm full."

"What'd you have?" Come to think of it, I'd never seen him _eat._

"Oh, this and that." He looked distractedly around my kitchen. It was such an odd experience, Simon in my kitchen. He was out of place, to say the least. His head was right on level with my seventh grade school portrait, and I wanted to cringe. His bright hair, pale skin, even face, perfect build; all contrasted sharply with my curly mass, too-dark tan, braces and gangly structure. My only consolation was that I was certainly _not_ in seventh grade anymore.

Rather abruptly, I realized that we were completely alone. Another first.

"So, you wanted to talk to me?" Maybe about his apparent deadliness?

Simon looked at me quizzically, blue eyes gleaming in the florescent lights. "Yes."

"About…?" I leaned against the counter as he leaned against the far wall.

"I don't know."

I wasn't sure whether to find this cute or annoying. Some combination of the two. "Maybe that explanation is in order?"

He shook his head, the little smirk returning to his face. "No, Cassie, not that."

Bastard. "A hint, then?"

He shook his head; when his hair moved like that, it looked like fire. "I've said too much already, I'm afraid."

"Then _why are you here?_"

"I told you. I wanted to see you."

"You couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

He just kept _staring_ at me. I knew why, but the spiteful gnome inside me refused to help him out. After a while, he spoke. "What are you thinking?"

That damn question, every single day! "I think that you like me."

He nodded. "Too much, I'm afraid."

"I like you too."

"Even worse."

Well, so much for being encouraging. "So… Now what?"

More staring. Something changed in his face though; his eyes grew unfocused, his head turned slightly. As though he were listening to something. "I should go. Your father's back." My eyes narrowed.

"What?"

He was in front of me with three quick strides. He reached his hand up to my face again, stroked my cheek once, as he had done earlier, and was out the door. The back door, though, through the living room. Just like that. The only noise in the kitchen was the quiet, staticy pop music from the radio. The song ended. I heard my father's car in the driveway.

How had he known?

My father walked in the door, his brow creased in worry. "Can't find him."

"Who?" Wait, what?

Dad gave me a look. "Devon."

Oh shit. "Devon! Right, sorry…"

"We've got a lot of people out looking for him." He started rummaging around, grabbing another flashlight, batteries, his warm coat, a blanket, some snacks. "I'm gonna check the woods."

"Do you want help?" I did my best to keep the reluctance out of my voice, and was only partially successful.

That look again, but softer this time. "No, don't worry about it. You have school tomorrow. Get some sleep."

I nodded. "All right."

"Don't wait up."

The front door shut me in relative silence for the second time in five minutes. My head started to throb and I rather violently turned off the radio. I made my way upstairs and collapsed on my bed. Simon some kind of superhero with a dysfunctional super-family, Devon run off to mope about my lack of interest. What had happened to my _day?_ It was only Monday. I fell into a fitful sleep too late for it to be of any good to me.

* * *

** And the plot thickens.**

**Review for review!**

**-Ce**


	11. Darling

Devon was still missing in the morning. His disappearance was, of course, the buzz of the school, and it provided for a strangely subdued yet energized English period.

Jackson seemed to be taking the whole thing about the same way I was. "Well, he's kind of a little shit anyways," he mumbled to me under his breath, "probably will turn up in a day or so and bask in glory as our dear resurrected savior." My resulting giggle was not appreciated by our classmates, who thankfully hadn't heard its cause.

Sophie had a much, much different take on the whole thing. "Cass, can you believe it? Oh my god, I can't even… Is it because of you? Do you know? He probably went through some kind of trauma from that crash, and you rejected him, and… oh my god, I hope he's okay." My attempts at empathy were hardly enthusiastic enough to convince her, but they lasted me until lunch.

The Hightower family was seated at their usual table, with one glaring exception — Simon wasn't there. Again. For a half second I was crushed, thinking his absence was the result of our odd, lightly confessional encounter last night.

Then I spotted his flaming mountain of hair in the corner of my eye, at an otherwise empty table to my right. He motioned for me to join him, and with a rather hasty 'see you later' to Sophie, I made my way over.

"Why the loner station?"

He shrugged. "My family and I are in the midst of a disagreement."

"I figured." I pulled leftover pizza from my paper bag and started munching, eyeing his full, untouched tray suspiciously. "About what?"

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Ethics and probability."

"Odd combination."

"Well, aren't we?"

"We as in _us_ or we as in you and your family?"

"Us, of course."

Pizza sauce almost came out my nose. _"Me?_ You guys are fighting about _me?"_

"Yes, among other things."

_"Why?"_ Heh, um… what?

He shrugged, spinning his apple on the table like a top. "It's really nothing, Cassie, they're being ridiculous."

I turned to look at them, only to find Bethany glaring at me, Brandon trying to talk her down, Josiah looking at me as if he'd throw up, and Wren squatted backwards on her chair with her head cocked curiously at me. The temptation to stick my tongue out at them nearly overtook me, but I prudently turned back to Simon. "Yeah, ridiculous. Okay. Do they have reasons for this?"

He smiled wickedly. "Oh yes. Good ones too. I happen to agree wholeheartedly with them."

"Then why are you talking to me?" What the _hell_ is wrong with these people?

"Because I don't care."

I leaned back in my chair, exasperated. I tore back into my pizza and watched him not eat. He sat there, eyes gleaming as he stared back, amused at my obvious frustration. I threw my trash away and sat back down. "Why don't you eat?"

"Not hungry."

"So you're _never_ hungry."

He frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you never eat. At least, I've never seen you eat."

He blinked. "Observant of you. However, you are wrong. I do get hungry, and I do eat."

"Just not at lunch time, like a normal person."

"Cassie, do I _look_ like a normal person to you?"

"No. What are you?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

I folded my arms and glared at him. "Well, if you're not going to eat that apple, Mr. Difficult, may I?"

Simon smirked and rolled it gently across the table. I bit into it ferociously.

"Can I have a hint?"

"I just gave you one."

"A better one."

"No."

His family was still watching us, I could feel their eyes on me. My spidey senses also tipped me off to Sophie and her table, trying to decipher our conversation just by our expressions and body language. "So you are ridiculously strong, and fast." He nodded. "You don't eat normal food, or at least not at the normal time. Whatever you are, your family is too, so this whole dropdead gorgeous thing is probably another symptom." More nodding. "Terminator?"

He laughed at me.

"Superman?"

He smirked, tried to cover it with his hand, shook his head.

"Aliens?"

More snickering and head shaking.

I shrugged at him and took another bite from the apple. "Well, I've got nothing." It came out muffled through my bite.

"You're not very good at this."

"You could help me."

"At first I was refusing because you really _shouldn't_ know, but now it's just funny."

"Asshole."

He grinned and offered the rest of his tray to me. I shook my head. The trash can was by the door, about ten feet away from him, and he started tossing things into it from where he sat. I glared at him. Show off.

"Uncanny precision." Another for my list.

His perfectly white teeth flashed at me. "Child's play, my dear."

"Dear?"

"Would you prefer Darling? Honey bear? Pookey?"

I cringed. "Christ, no, anything but pookey."

"Darling it is!"

"I don't think you're American."

He raised an eyebrow at me, still absently tossing his food. "Really? What makes you say that?"

"You don't talk like one."

"You're wrong. I am American."

"What about your father, then? He doesn't sound American either."

"He's not."

A clue! "What about the rest of your siblings?"

Simon rested his foot on the edge of the table, tipped his chair back on two legs, watched me from a greater distance. "American, of course."

My eyes narrowed. "Uh huh." I finished off the last bite of apple and considered tossing the core to the garbage. However, fear of embarrassment stopped me, and I instead stood and dropped it in. I didn't look at Simon's face until I'd sat back down.

"Good throw."

"Shut up." I sighed and rested my head on the table. "So. You aren't Terminator, or Superman, or aliens. Genetically engineered humans?"

"No."

"Any other science experiment?"

"No."

"Spies? Lethal government weapons?"

"Well, lethal weapons, but certainly not government."

"Am I even _close?"_

A half smile, showing those pearly whites again. "Nope."

"Hmm…" The eyes of the masses were still on us. Every instinct I had screamed to turn around and face them; so I did.

There seemed to be layers; closest were people I hardly knew, who looked away immediately. Behind them, Sophie's table, nervous and watching and envious and curious at once. At the far end, the opposite corner, sat Simon's family. Wren was still perched on her chair like some kind of gargoyle, and as our eyes met, hazel to brown, she smiled at me. A wide, creepy smile that reached her eyes and made her look manic. She opened wide, framing her teeth in the darkness of her mouth like she was trying to eat me from across the room.

Simon coughed unsubtly. I whirled back around to find him staring disapprovingly at his adopted sister. "Wren isn't the most… stable of us."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just don't take her too seriously. She's harmless."

"I thought you were all deadly."

"Aside from that."

"You aren't making very much sense."

"Actually, I am, but you lack context."

His eyes darted over my shoulder just as an unfamiliar voice spoke. "Anyone would lack context, Simon, if you were the one supposed to give it." Wren spun a chair around with one hand and squatted on it, just as she'd been across the room. Up close, she was most definitely Chinese. Her eyes were wide and brown, permanently surprised and curious, set in a smooth round face. Like her adopted brother, she was perfectly proportioned and incredibly beautiful. She looked even smaller than usual, probably barely five feet tall, certainly not taller than me.

Simon sighed. "Cassie, meet my sister, Wren."

Wren stuck her hand out to me. "Pleasure." I shook it deliberately. Her hand was cold, almost stiff, and just by her gentle handshake I could tell that she was strong. Obvious effort was being put forth to not crush my fingers.

"The pleasure is all mine."

She beamed at me. "I like her, Simon."

"Yes, so do I."

"No need to get snarky. I'm just saying."

"I know."

"Of course _you_ know."

His look was steady and almost serious. Wren stuck her tongue out at him and turned to me.

"Why do you tolerate this?"

I blinked at her. "Simon?"

"Yes. He's absolutely insufferable."

"He keeps things interesting."

"Well, I suppose so, but there are more… _interesting_ ways to keep things interesting."

"Such as?"

Simon jumped in. "Wren…"

She winked at him slyly before returning her attention to me. "Anyway, I like you. Ignore the rest of them. They'll come around."

"Thanks? I guess I like you too."

"You're welcome!" She grinned that creepy, too-wide grin again, baring her teeth at me. "And you do. Well, you will. Anyway, the bell's about to ring. Bye my little lovebirds!"

She skipped back to her table, beaming at her stoic family.

I turned back to Simon, who'd covered his face with his hand and was shaking his head slowly.

"What was that all about?"

"She wanted to meet you. Wren has never cared much for social courtesy."

"And you have?"

"No."

The bell rang, as Wren had predicted. We stood, cleared the table, and left the lunchroom together, to the excessive interest of Sophie and my friends. We were the first ones out, and in the deserted courtyard I decided to change the subject.

"Last night you said that you like me too much."

"I did, didn't I?"

"Yes. What exactly does that mean?"

He stopped walking and looked down at me, curiously. "I'm not sure. Not yet anyway. It could mean that I like having you as a friend." Ouch. "But it could mean more. This is a novel experience for me, Cassie. I'm not used to _wanting_ to be around anyone aside from my family." He smirked as we walked through the Biology door. "Though I must admit, I haven't encountered anyone quite like you, not even within my family."

"Thanks?"

He laughed as we sat down. "I don't know if it's a compliment either, Darling."

* * *

**They're so cute. Aren't they cute? I think they're cute.**

**Review. Provide me with ideas. And something to get excited about while I lounge around in a Las Vegas hospital.**

**-Ce**


	12. The Police

Devon still hadn't turned up the next day. I didn't mind much, but Dad was a wreck. My friend group was quiet, as was the rest of the school, but our lunch table kept getting sympathetic looks. The Hightowers seemed to have made up, since Simon was back at their table, but things were tense there too. None of the usual playing around, smiling and talking — even the boredom was gone. They sat in their circle, Simon mumbling quickly to them with the occasional response.

"Cass? Cass!"

I reluctantly looked at Sophie. "Hm?"

"Jackson has a question for you."

Jackson leaned in. "Are you still coming camping this weekend?"

"That's still happening?" After Devon disappears _from school?_ Jackson wants to spend Halloween Night _i__n the_ _forest?_ I smiled as he nodded. "I'm game. Sounds fun."

Sophie blinked at me. "Ugh, you guys are _insane."_

We turned on her, grinning. "You should come, too." I said.

Jackson joined in the pestering. "Yeah Sophie. You said you'd come."

She grit her teeth at us. "You know, I really don't think it's _appropriate_ to go _camping_ at a time like this."

"Time like what? Oh, come on, it's _Devon._ He's fine, probably out there right now waiting for us."

That made me laugh. Bad choice. "I can't _believe_ you two. It's like you don't care at all about Devon."

I met Jackson's eyes. We were clearly thinking the exact same thing, which is why neither of us responded to Sophie's outrage.

A cool hand touched my shoulder. I jumped. "Cassie, come walk with me."

"Shit, could you _quit doing that_?"

Simon managed to look shamefaced, but I thought I caught a smile. "Sorry. Was that a yes?"

I sighed and averted my eyes from everyone at my table, since theirs were locked on Simon. "Yeah, but you didn't ask."

He blinked. "I didn't, did I?"

"No. Let's go." I flashed Jackson a smile and waved at everyone else. Simon took my arm and angled me towards the door. "You seem to have made up with your family."

"To an extent." He shrugged, a tense if dismissive gesture. We walked outside, into a fine drizzle. "I've put their minds at ease, for the time being at least."

"About what?"

He sighed. "Nothing, nevermind."

"What did you do?"

"What makes you think I _did_ anything?"

I smiled. "Oh please. I know you _that_ well, at least."

"At any rate, the… conflict with my family has temporarily subsided, yes.

"Hmph." It was obvious from his tone that I wouldn't get anything out of him. My mind got to wandering as we walked. Something itched at the edge of my consciousness, but it wasn't… quite….

"What are you thinking?"

Lost it! Damn. "How do you feel about camping?"

He raised a flaming brow at me, his ocean eyes trying to drown out my own. "Camping?"

"Yeah. Like tents and fires and trees and nature and all that."

"It… has its merits. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "Well, with Devon AWOL there's a slot open for the trip this weekend."

Simon laughed, that strange, hollow, wind-chime laugh of his. "Somehow I doubt I would enjoy myself. There's some good trails in that area though." The bell rang for class, but Simon grasped my arm when I turned to go back. "Let's skip today, shall we?"

My initial reaction was to _not_ skip, considering my father was a cop and all that, but then… "Why?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Do we need a reason?"

I thought about that. "It might actually be worse if we had one."

"Exactly. So, where do you want to go?"

* * *

I couldn't think of anywhere, so we settled for his vehicle. "Why do you even have this thing?" I gestured at the Volvo that enclosed us.

He shrugged. "Can't ride the motorcycle all the time."

"Well, yeah, but why… _this?"_

He gave me a blank stare. "What's wrong with it?"

I gave up. "Nevermind."

He grinned at me. "So, I want to hear more theories."

"Only if you give me a hint."

Simon sighed, a cascading waterfall of exasperation. "Oh, that's no fun."

"Yeah, for _you._ How about we play twenty questions?"

He pursed his lips. "Ten."

"You're impossible. Botched science experiment?"

"No."

"Do you like cats?"

"...Yes."

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"Not in the least."

"How do you feel about cooking?"

"Not overly fond of it."

"Brooms?"

"What about them?"

"Do you have one?"

"Yes."

"Are you a witch?"

He burst out laughing. "No! My goodness Cassie, do I strike you as… _witchy?"_

I smirked at him. "You tell me."

He smiled at me. "You have four more questions. Make them good."

It occurred to me that this was _actually_ a chance to figure it out. I went through my mental list again. "How old are you?" Might as well start simple; with Oberon looking more like 22 than 40-anything, who's to say Simon wasn't some creepy 46-year-old pervert?

That perfect eyebrow raised again. "One hundred and sixteen."

My already too-large eyes bulged out of my skull. "You're lying."

"That would ruin the game, now, wouldn't it?"

_One hundred and sixteen._ I did the math. 1897. ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN. "Wait, wait, wait, what the fuck, wait!"

He grinned at me. "What kind of an answer were you expecting?"

I fumbled. "Uhm, uh, gee, I don't know, something _within the last fucking century_? You look like you're… you're…"

"Eighteen, five months, six days."

"Uh. Yeah. _That."_ The wheels in my head spun faster than I knew they could. Even if he was playing a joke on me — certainly likely, if out of character — this was a puzzle I wanted to figure out. I made an effort to recover from the shock. What would grant eternal youth? Immortality, obviously, but what about everything else? "Did you find the Fountain of Youth?"

"Not in the conventional sense."

"Hey, if these last few questions are going to be worth it, you better answer straight."

Simon ran a hand through his hair, porcelain in rubies. "No."

Two more questions. Good ones. Forget figuring it out; what did I _want_ to know?

Impatience radiated from him. "What are you thinking?"

That works. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"That's not a yes or no question."

I squinted my eyes at him. "I'll sacrifice my last question if you answer honestly."

His lip curled. "I don't think that's a fair trade, Cassie."

"What is, then?"

Now it was his turn to think for a few minutes. I fiddled with his CD player and accidentally turned it on. _Every Breath You Take_ by The Police slipped from the speakers. Simon started laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Is that one of your questions?"

I groaned and continued to wait; he tapped his long fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.

"Can I get a raincheck on that?" He asked.

"On what?"

"That trade. This is your last question, and you owe me if I answer completely and honestly."

I weighed the risks. Owing Simon a favor sounded… sketchy. But after the other day, I already owed him my life. What else could he possibly ask? "All right. I owe you. Now tell me."

"I ask you that question all the time because I can't read your mind."

"Oh, come on, that —"

"But I can read everyone else's."

The song filled the silence. _Oh can't you see… You belong to me…_ What the Hell had I gotten myself into with this guy? "You're joking."

"Darling, would I _ever_ joke with you?"

I levelled my gaze at him. "You realize you're going to have to prove this to me, right?"

Simon turned full towards me in his seat. The song changed, to _Don't Stand So Close to Me._ Sweet Jesus… "I suppose so. It would be far easier if I could read _your_ thoughts, but unfortunately…"

If he didn't ask me what I was thinking ten times a day I wouldn't have believed him on that point. I started thinking back to times when he might have been reading minds — but nothing struck me as solid evidence. Well, if he'd had a hundred years to learn to hide it… "Why are you telling me all this, assuming it's true?"

"Is that one of your questions?"

_"Simon."_

He sighed, and chuckled under his breath. "Ah, that's a more complicated question than you'd expect."

I tapped the clock on his radio. "We have a half hour."

"More, if you don't feel like attending gym."

"An hour and a half. Speak."

Simon's fingers went to his hair again — a nervous tick, I'd noticed. "The most obvious reason is _because_ I can't read you like I can read others — you surprise me, if only because I don't hear what you're going to do or say before you do or say it. Getting to know you has been a novel experience because I've actually had to _try,_ and I still feel like I'm missing things." He took a deep breath and looked out the front window. "I've also been alone for a very, very long time. My family is adequate companionship, but it's difficult to _not_ want something more. To find someone like you, who I can't predict very well, who's tenacious and stubborn and… challenging, in a good way, is rare beyond belief." He smiled, but whether it was genuine or just to lighten the mood I couldn't tell. "You're also cute, which helps."

I'd have said thank you if he hadn't melted me with his speech. But he had, so instead I just leaned over to kiss him. Most guys would have reacted, but Simon froze in place, like he was terrified of me — and somehow that was adorable. His lips were cold, like his hands.

I pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were closed, and it was a minute before he whispered, "You _really_ shouldn't have done that."

And then he lunged at me.

* * *

**Hahahaha I'm such a poop.**

**Y'all know the drill.**

**-Ce**


	13. Like Peppermint

Making out with Simon was like making out with a peppermint stick. A cold, responsive, slightly metallic peppermint stick. He even _looked_ like a candy cane, with that super-white skin and super-red hair. It was a bit strange, I'll admit — most guys I'd made out with had been my temperature, and while at first I thought that maybe his circulation was just bad, when he didn't warm up at all it became obvious that he wasn't really going to. Any heat he managed was simply me rubbing off on him, almost literally.

It made it more… interesting, though. Normally there's a fusion-effect, two bodies becoming one, all that jazz. But for the next hour and a half, we remained completely and clearly separate. This in no way detracted from the experience — if anything, I felt better about it. Not only had it been my idea, but I was maintaining autonomy.

All in all, I give that hour and a half a big thumbs up.

The bell rang for the end of school, and students poured from the classrooms and gym. Simon pulled away. "They'll see."

"Let them." I moved back in.

His lukewarm hand pushed gently back on my shoulder. "My family…"

_"Ugh."_ I settled back into my seat, annoyed like a child who'd been spoiled with too much candy. "I thought you guys figured that out."

"We're more or less at an impasse. But the last thing I need to do is antagonize them."

"Fine." I dove in for one last kiss before the student flood made it to the parking lot. "See you tomorrow, then?"

He nodded; he looked a bit disoriented, and I giggled. "Tomorrow," he said.

"No more appearing on my doorstep?"

"No. Well…" He looked at me meaningfully. "Not tonight."

I laughed and straightened myself a bit; the chatter of my peers was audible now.

Simon started laughing.

"What?" Had he really mussed me up _that_ bad?

"Sophie's very angry with you."

I turned, and sure enough Sophie was standing on the curb, mouth agape. "Shit, did she see us?"

"She saw _you,_ and she knows that _this_ is mine. It's not difficult to deduce things, especially not with a mind like hers."

That was a discussion for another time. "Well then." I turned and waved at her. She shook herself off and slunk to her car. "Let her watch."

He laughed again. "See you… Tomorrow, then."

"Bye!" I walked over to my truck, ran my hand contentedly along the bumper, and drove home grinning ear to ear.

* * *

Had my father not been so wrapped up in Devon's disappearance, he might have noticed how obscenely cheerful I was. As it was, he got home two hours late and immediately started pacing the kitchen.

"Dad, are you okay?"

He shook his head, the curls we shared bouncing around. "Are you still going camping this weekend?"

"Yes." My voice was guarded; I ran through all of my arguments for him to allow me to go, Devon or no Devon.

"Who else?"

I relaxed. Slightly. "Jackson Gregg is driving," He'd recognize the last names more than the first names. "Valerie Jones, Josephine Pekkish, Kyle Markell, Eddie Humphrey, and Lyle."

He nodded. "Lyle. Okay. That's good. The Gregg boy's a good kid, good group, you guys should be fine."

"We will."

Dad took a deep breath. "Where did _you_ last see Devon?"

"English on Monday morning."

He eyed me, cautiously, almost apologetically. "And were you in all of your classes?"

"Dad!" Great, now _I_ was a suspect. Fantastic.

"Hey, come on, I gotta exhaust all my options here."

"Come on, look at me, do you think I have even the _chance_ of overpowering Devon?"

"Well, he's not a tough kid, I mean…"

"Dad." I sighed. "He's hardly worth going out of my way to avoid, do you really think I'd go out of my way to get rid of him?"

"No, but…"

"But nothing. I had nothing to do with it, and you know it."

He quit pacing and plopped himself down at the table. "Kids don't just disappear like that, Cass. Not around here. Especially not a kid like Devon Baker. Sometimes someone will go down to Ruby Beach and jump off a rock at high tide, but people like that leave notes and drive cars, and they sure as Hell don't do it during third period Algebra."

Third period Algebra. Why did that make my brain itch? "Dad, if I knew what to tell you, I would. But I don't. Whatever happened to Devon… happened, and he'll turn up if he turns up. You've done what you can."

He nodded at my appallingly generic and vague advice. "I know, Cass. It's just rough. Kid going missing like that."

"You should get some sleep."

"Yeah. Goodnight."

"Night."

Well, there goes my good mood. I gave the stereo an extra notch as I heard the shower going, but it didn't drown out the roaring in my ears or the rain against the kitchen window. Suddenly, two days later, Devon's disappearance had invaded my psyche. What really bothered me, though, wasn't that Devon was gone — he was a nuisance at best — but the impact it clearly had on my father. He'd always been competent when it came to work, and eventually accepted his mess of a personal life. Now even work was in turmoil, and this wasn't something he could watch walk out on him. My father's stress meant more to me than the rest of Forks combined.

* * *

With that collective stress weighing down on our apathy, Jackson and I didn't have the heart to crack jokes during English. Sophie, ever the politician, had printed up enough posters of Devon's face to paper mache the entire lunchroom, and spent her time in between classes handing them to people who'd gone to daycare with the kid. My exasperation did not go unnoticed.

"I can't _believe_ you," she hissed at me during Spanish. The stack of papers she'd tried to hand off to me, and I thought I'd gracefully rejected, fluttered with her fury. "You act like you don't even care."

"Didn't we have this conversation yesterday?" She hmphed at me. "Look, it's not that I don't care. I just don't think that this is actually going to do anything."

"Awareness is the first step to recovery."

What? "Isn't that an AA thing?"

She rolled her eyes in such a way that her entire upper body moved. Impressive. _"Whatever._ The point is that the more people know he's gone, the more likely we are to find him."

"Sophie. It took about twelve hours for the town to learn that you'd lost your virginity. I don't think the void Devon left behind has gone unnoticed."

Okay, so _maybe_ that wasn't the best example. Her eyes blazed, and she opened her mouth to say something, but it snapped shut when the bell rang and she stormed out of the room.

It was quickly becoming apparent that a lack of Devon was more inconvenient than his presence.

During lunch the tension was almost visible in the air. Jackson's prediction of a heat wave had come true, and to celebrate the sunshine we sat outside at one of the picnic tables. Eddie, Kyle, and Josephine joined us for a camping trip planning session, which Sophie tastefully sat out of. We were all pretty excited, but the missing party member still loomed over everyone — except Jackson, who didn't have a stressed, aging father to put him on edge.

Jackson unfolded a map from the gas station and uncapped a highlighter with his teeth. "All right, so —" And he outlined, in scrupulous detail, The Plan. We'd drive the 101 even deeper into the forest, turn off at the Elwha river and follow it up into the mountains to Boulder Creek Campground, by the ranger's station. It wasn't too long of a drive, and the ranger's station would put everyone's parents at ease.

Plus, hot springs. Who doesn't want to spend Halloween weekend hanging out in hot springs?

With The Plan thoroughly gone over, the six of us turned our attention to lighter matters — what the Hell happened to Devon? Jackson and I spent most of the conversation indulging in sarcastic commentary.

"Do you think he killed himself?"

"Most likely. He's always been an angsty little shit."

"I don't know, he probably would have done something a bit more obvious. We'd have found him already if he wanted to die."

"You're disgusting! He probably isn't dead, it's only been three days."

"Oh yeah, because you could totally survive in the woods for three days, Soph."

"Damn right I could."

As the theories become more embellished I tuned out and tried to enjoy the sun. After so long without it the stuff felt like a drug; it was barely sixty degrees outside, if we were lucky, but nothing felt better on my waning tan, no matter how chilly. My mind inevitably wandered to the Simon issue. I ran through my usual thoughts, and managed to scrap most of them based on his apparent immortality. X-men and genetically engineered humans were still pretty human, and nothing I'd seen in the world of science fiction indicated a tendency towards eternal youth. I toyed with Tuck Everlasting, but the whole super-strong and super-pretty thing put a damper on that.

He'd called himself a weapon. A lethal weapon. He was designed to kill. That explained the super strength, but what about the beauty? What purpose does being pretty have when it comes to killing?

Beauty, attraction — like flowers attract bees. Flies to honey, moths to light, the way a venus flytrap uses sugar to lure in bugs to eat. The purpose of his incredible sexiness was to draw in victims so he could kill them.

A thrill went down my spine.

He never eats. And with humans as the inevitable victim — beauty like that could only attract one kind — I came to a rather unpleasant conclusion.

In an attempt to shake off the suspicion rising in my gut, I stared at the sunlight. The hot, yellow, blinding... sunlight.

The revelation hit me like a wave, and I needed confirmation. I hopped up from the table, claimed the bathroom as an excuse and darted back into the lunchroom.

The Hightower table sat empty. And I no longer lacked context — it all made sense.

I didn't know whether to be elated at figuring it out or terrified by my conclusion. My reaction settled into a kind of muffled squeal, and the urge to jump in victory nearly overwhelmed me. The half-filled cafeteria kept shooting me glances. Who could blame them? The freakishly tan, elusive, Arizonian new girl was standing in the doorway with her skinny hands clamped over her mouth, eyes wide at the Hightower lunch table. My brain was too busy screaming at me to do anything, though.

I'd made out with a vampire yesterday, and the only feeling I could muster was pride.

* * *

**Cassie doesn't need Google to figure things out. Cassie's a smart cookie.**

**Just to tease you, I wrote my ending. And oh MAN is it good.**

**Review. :)**

**-Ce**


	14. Bite Me

Lyle possessed the uncanny ability to make me feel five years younger. If I were in my early thirties, this might have been a good thing. As it was, Lyle and I turned into twelve-year-olds in each others' presence.

"Sixty-three bottles of beer on the wall, sixty-three bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around! sixty-two bottles of beer on the wall!"

This had stopped being fun for everyone else at around eighty two, but me and Lyle were still inexplicably going strong.

We'd prudently placed ourselves in the back corner of the Gregg Family Van, and I'd won rock-paper-scissors for the window seat. Even with my extended yearly visits, I hadn't managed to get out of Forks much, so the immensity of the surrounding woods held some level of romance and amazement for me. The Olympic National Forest was eerily beautiful — parts had remained immune to the logging, so trees loomed over the 101 like a canopy, and it was strikingly clear that we lived in a rain forest. Normally that term evokes vibrant, tropical jungles, but this was a darker, more subdued rendition. There were stretches of highway that felt like driving through a misty tunnel to Narnia.

Josie got fed up with me and Lyle and turned around in her seat. "Guys. Please. Can't you do something with a bit more… variety?"

We stopped singing and looked at each other. "I Spy?" I asked.

Lyle grinned, then leaned obnoxiously over me to look out the window.. "I spy something… green!"

"Way to narrow it down."

"Just guess!"

"Is it… a tree?"

"Bingo! Your turn."

Lyle was almost easier for me to read than my father; he had a twinkle in his eye, and when he glanced up front at Josie I knew exactly what was going through his mind. "I spy something… green."

He beamed at me. "Is it a tree?"

"How'd you know? Your turn!"

"I spy something… green!"

About a half hour into the drive I suspected that everyone regretted bringing at least one of us along.

Eventually even we lost interest, though, and managed to move onto normal, mature, adult conversation.

"So Cass, heard you and Simon were snogging in his Volvo Wednesday during gym."

The van giggled collectively. "Did you really just use the word 'snogging'?"

Lyle blushed, pink roses under brown skin. "Me and Dad watched Harry Potter on ABC last weekend. But that's not the point, the point is _you. Simon. Volvo. Wednesday."_

Valerie turned to look at me. "Sophie said something about that, but I didn't believe her."

"Oh?" Of course she did. "What'd she say, exactly?" More importantly, what's she _been_ saying? And has it gotten around to my dad yet? If Lyle knew — homeschooled, sheltered, 15-year-old Lyle — there's a good chance Frank knew too, and, by extension, my father.

Val wasn't one to gossip, though. "That she saw you leave Simon's Volvo after school, and the rest was just assumption."

"Val. Come on. What _kind_ of assumption?"

She sighed, and bit her lip in that guilty way she had. "Well, what Lyle said, that you two had been making out for 'God knows how long' — her words — that she thinks you two are secretly dating and have been for a while, and that she isn't really sure what he sees in you and she thinks he'll knock you up." That last bit came out in a rush, and Valerie hunched down in her seat while all the guys cringed. Josie muttered 'bitch' under her breath.

"Damn." Lyle whistled. "You sure can pick 'em, Cass."

"Boys or friends?"

He grinned. "Both."

Josie turned the radio down. "So, how much of that is true, I guess?"

I shrugged into the rearview mirror. "The making out part. To the best of my knowledge we aren't dating." Do vampire boys play by different rules? "He does see something in me," you know, what he _doesn't_ see. That's a thing. "And I at least have no intention of getting knocked up." Can vampires procreate? Simon-the-Vampire-Boy had a lot of questions to answer.

"So wait, I still don't get it." Eddie turned. "He actually _talks_ to you? He's been here two years and I've hardly heard him say three words."

"Yeah, I mean… We're lab partners in Bio, and neither of us really _like_ that class, so we talk." It was hard to explain our friendship without it getting uncomfortably personal. "And we're both new here — him not so much, but you know — and we've kind of bonded over that. We have a lot in common, too." You know, minus the whole century-old-vampire thing.

Eddie nodded, but Kyle jumped in. "What's he like?"

"He's…" Shit, I dunno. "Curious. He might not talk much," to you people, "but he's really interested in things. He's real into psychology and how people think, a lot of the time he just tries to figure out how I tick." See? Not lying. I'm good at this. "He's really philosophical too, kind of a 'deep thinker' type. It makes him cryptic, so talking to him is like a puzzle. And even when he's talking I feel like he's off in his own world somewhere, like he's got two trains of thought going." You know, his and everyone else's.

Kyle nodded, apparently satisfied. "Seems like a weird dude."

That's one way to put it.

Josie eyed me in the rearview mirror. "So, what are you gonna do about Sophie?"

"Do I have to do anything?" If Sophie felt like being a jealous bitch, she had every right to. Nothing she said behind my back would change the fact that _I'd_ made out with Simon-the-Vampire-Boy and she hadn't.

"Well, I guess not…"

Valerie turned, still blushing from spilling the beans on her friend. "Oh, please don't start anything! She doesn't mean anything by it."

"I know." Yeah, sure she didn't. "Don't worry, Val, Sophie's cool and all, but she sure as hell isn't worth getting into a fight with."

She faced forward again, placated. Despite my brave words, Sophie's minor backstabbing stung — I wasn't nice like Valerie, or passive like Josie, but I hadn't done her any real wrong that I could think of. For her to go out of her way to undermine my life felt so… personal. If I'd done something more direct to her, I could live with it, but we'd been friendly on the surface even though we were constantly at odds. Me getting what she wanted didn't seem like a good enough reason to break that truce.

Whatever. Let her fight me, I've got a vampire on my side.

* * *

**Updates from here on out will probably be on Fridays, just a heads up. I'm getting to the big knot of information-but-not-much-action part of the story, so things are going a bit slowly on my end.**

**Are you all ready for some ghost stories? ;)**

**Review!**

**-Ce**


	15. Scary Stories

At the turnoff to head up into the mountains, Lyle and I cheered the way our fathers cheered for touchdowns. The radio went in and out except for a few stations, so we eventually surrendered and rifled through the Gregg Family CD collection.

"Hey Jackson!" Lyle had somehow managed to get a hold of the bulk of them. "What's with all the soundtracks?"

"My dad's a big fan of 'em. Pass one up."

And that's how we spent the last forty five minutes of our drive listening to 90's pop music.

We got the tents set up and a fire going by about seven o'clock; Josie wanted to go down to the hot springs, but she was overruled by the hotdog brigade. We ate and let the fire die down, pulled out the wool blankets and marshmallows, and got right into the scary stories. Josie's was a sorority gone wrong — a wave of new girls, each dropping off until only one was left. Eddie had a haunted house, the ghosts of Winchester Mansion. Valerie got an extra blanket from the car and passed. Jackson got real into it.

"I have a theory, guys. About Devon."

After Eddie's ghost story, we were all paying rapt attention. I knew this was going to be good, because Jackson wasn't fond of Devon either — he could have guiltless fun with his disappearance.

Eddie tried to pass him the flashlight. "No, this isn't a joke. I'm serious." The skepticism settled like a film. "I've heard stories, when I go out to Aberdeen or Port Angeles. My cousins out in Shelton've heard them too. A couple Evergreen kids in Olympia made a movie about it, I went to their festival last year and saw it. The legend's been going around for a while, probably a few generations.

"You guys know how people go missing out here. Someone'll be at the bar, drowning at the bottom of the glass, and they start mumbling about the forest. Going into the forest. Get away from it all, hide out from the world. But it isn't the world they're trying to hide from. There's spirits out here. Some people say it's the ghosts of Indians, killed by smallpox. Others think it's long gone murderers, like the killer from Aberdeen, back from the dead to continue their work.

"They don't just kill, though, oh no. They start by choosing — always the loser types, the odd ones out, the kind of kids that we laugh at. They're easier to change, to convince. A lot of the spirits try to seduce their victims, whisper in their ears about the afterlife and the joys of haunting, of killing. But I don't think that's the one that got Devon."

It was cold in the camp. Late October, eleven at night, a mist settling in from the ocean. Our sunlight, my final clue, had been short-lived. The sky had darkened three hours ago. We were all curled up in sweaters and raincoats and blankets, our chairs scooted close to the embers for warmth. Kyle licked the last of a s'more off his fingers. Josie, clearly frustrated by the armrests on her chair, tried to get closer to Jackson. Valerie had curled up to doze on Eddie's lap long ago. Lyle and I were sharing his dad's big chair and a blanket, both slight enough to fit. The dying fire popped as we absently added damp kindling, and the small flame was just bright enough to give everyone an orange flicker.

"It slipped him sweet nothings, little boosts of ego and confidence that he used. The spirit told him about Cass, that she was coming, that she was kind, that she would understand him." I lifted my knees to my chest beneath the blanket. "And when he spoke to her, she spoke back, and it only encouraged the spirit. It convinced Devon that she was being more than friendly, it goaded him, pushed him further and further." Everyone's eyes flashed from me to Jackson, sketchily, trying to be sneaky about it. "And then it broke him. With Cass's refusal, inevitable to us, Devon was pushed to the edge. The spirit, pleased with the anger that rose within Devon, used it to try to kill two birds with one stone so to speak. The accident last week was a final, ill-fated attempt on two lives." I remembered the minivan hurtling towards me, the flashes that went through my head of crushed bones and smashed organs. "To no avail. With this so wholly botched, the spirit released its hold on Devon's ear, took his heart in firm grasp, and led him into this forest, never to be seen again."

I shivered as everyone else shifted in their seats. The combination of ambiance and Jackson's low, chilling voice had put us all on edge.

"Are you all right?" So low I could hardly hear him.

"Fine."

Lyle looked at me. "Hm?"

"I'm fine."

He just nodded and looked into the fire. Was he the one who'd asked me, or was it Kyle on my right?

Jackson grinned at the completion of his story, but it was clear that he'd even disturbed himself. His narrative hit a bit close to home, too much too soon. "Lyle, your turn. Tell us some legends. Your mom was from the reservation, did she ever tell you stories?"

Lyle didn't turn grim, but his face turned to stone. "I was really young."

"Well, you've gotta have something."

He shrugged, and looked away from the fire. "Yeah, but nothing from my mom." Even I was a bit shocked at Jackson's insensitivity; Lyle's mom had died when he was three or four. It was rough for him to grow up without her, especially since he'd been there when it happened. I'd never gotten the whole story — neither of them, Lyle or his dad, liked to talk about it. She was a great woman. I'd met her during those first few summers in Forks, and sometimes I worried that I remembered her better than Lyle. He spoke of her occasionally, on the big game nights when we'd go walking because our fathers were too loud; she came up, and I knew how much he missed her.

Suddenly he grinned. "I've got something. Did you guys know there're werewolves in these woods?" Someone chuckled. "They stalk the towns and reservations on full moons, hunting for their next victims. Nothing excites them more than the smell of blood, and mostly they just feed on animals — but sometimes there's a hiker, lost on the trail, alone in the dark, and he goes missing. Human flesh is a treat. They live among us, the werewolves, unnoticed, under the radar. Sometimes they even go to school with us." He paused, trying to collect his story. "The worst, though, is propagation of the species. Because of the… frenzy that comes with human flesh, it's difficult to stop. They need to keep the person alive, they need to have the control to _stop feeding_ and create another wolf. With the creation comes a responsibility to train him, show him the ropes — it's easier for children to learn, and that's why so many go missing entirely. Many wolves live in communities, deep in the forest, surviving on what they can with their own kind. It's harder now than it ever was to stay in normal society as a wolf."

We all nodded, glad that Lyle's tactless scary story had lifted Jackson's more resounding one. Eddie, with a sleeping Valerie still on his lap, suggested we put out the fire and go to bed. Halloween was almost over, and we'd all had our fill of it.

* * *

My hair had a serious problem with camping. Not only had the regional humidity made it nearly impossible to maintain, if only because I was floundering with it, but add in to that staticy sleeping bags and a thin, useless pillow and I've got myself a brown, tentacle-like halo. My solution was a knit beanie from my mother's knitting phase. It sure flattened my hair, but the rest ballooned out around me so my head looked like an overturned mushroom.

In the eternal foresight I must have inherited from my mother, I'd neglected to bring my swim suit with me to Forks, and hadn't been able to find one in late October. I spent Hot Spring Time dangling my feet in the water.

Lyle splashed me. "Aw, come on Cass, hop in!"

I looked meaningfully down at my jeans and rain jacket. "Yeah, no." He splashed me again and ducked underwater before I could kick him. Unfortunately, not being _in_ the spring took me out of the conversation, so I got bored pretty quick. "Hey guys, I'm gonna go walk around."

Eddie, who had been trying to get Valerie to duck underwater with him, looked up at me. "Aw, come on Cass, stay!"

"Naw, I'm bored. I'll be back."

"Hey!" Lyle tugged on my foot. "What if you get lost?"

I pulled out of his grasp and put my socks on. "I have an impeccable sense of direction. And my cell phone." I hopped up. "Call me if something fun happens."

The campground had a few small trails going out from it, but most petered off at the creek or the hot springs. I walked down to the Pacific Northwest Trailhead, which eventually led back out of the mountains to the 101, and figured I'd go down it until I felt like turning around. My friends would remain endlessly amused by the natural hot tub, and I really wouldn't be missed. The walk would help me process things, anyway — Simon-the-Vampire-Boy had been burning a hole in my skull since I'd figured out his secret.

It didn't bother me. Well, okay, maybe a little, but I was less worried about him killing me and more worried about what his existence meant in the grand scheme of things.

He couldn't be alone. His family, all vampires as well I'd assume, were but a small sampling of the reality. Hundreds, thousands others existed, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands. The thought of millions was a bit much, but… all of the legends were _real._ My mother used to scare me at night with vampire stories. She'd put them in the city to stalk young women, or back in the middle-ages to thwart tyrannical lords. Mom's inconsistent nature was reflected in her storytelling — ever changing, ever jumping from one concept or idea to the next. Vampires were ambiguous figures to me — not evil, per se, but not inherently good, either.

For my mother, her favorite vampire theory was the deal with the Devil. She made it up, I'm pretty sure, or pulled it from a few sources to entertain me. Centuries, millennia ago, her story started, there were those who wished to live forever. After exhausting the natural solutions — beauty tricks, rituals for the gods and spirits — they concluded that they'd have to appeal to the highest power. God put men on earth to suffer, die, and return gratefully to Him. But Satan had other plans. He tempted people, He invited them in through sin, and might grant their wish for a price. However, He was reportedly difficult to get a hold of. The young men who wished to conquer death found their solution through Satan's delivery boy, the Grim Reaper. They killed a grave caretaker and waited for the Reaper to appear, made their request, and were almost immediately seen by the Devil Himself. He considered their desire, and granted their wish, on one condition — not only would they give Him their eternal souls, but they would stalk the world and provide Him with more. They sealed the deal with a toast of the dead man's blood, and so the vampire was born.

She always ended the story with _and some say those three still roam the Earth, basking in their eternal life and reaping souls for the Devil!_ and tickling me. With what had happened in the last week, her story seemed plausible, but I put it on my list of things to interrogate Simon-the-Vampire-Boy about.

Along with me. Why _me?_ He'd told me what attracted him to me, my tenacity and that whole mind reading thing, but it still felt off. His being so forthcoming with me didn't quite fit into a scheme. Though he hadn't outright told me what he was, his hinting and skirting the issue hadn't indicated an actual reluctance for me to know. He'd wanted me to figure it out. And I had, so what now?

I turned a corner on the path. How long had I been walking? A half hour? Longer? I checked my phone; forty-five minutes. Damn. Something nagged at me, not really the vampire thing, but probably related. A recklessness, an impulsivity I'd picked up from Mom. On that whim I stopped and looked around, found a game trail and barrelled my way down it. Screw maintained paths, I want some action. I'm almost dating a vampire, I can take on the woods.

It bit me in the ass, though, when I went down a rise and circled a tree and wound up face-to-face with Devon's corpse.

* * *

**There's the action! Next chapter's pretty short, so I'll post it in a few days.**

**-Ce**


	16. Psychopaths

His eyes were open, dull blue orbs. His skin hung off him, drooping just slightly in the early stages of decay. His greasy dark hair was greasy even in death. His mouth, open about an inch, was dry and unnaturally gray. That was the most disturbing — how incredibly _gray_ he looked.

The breath rushed from my body at the sight, and I hadn't made up my mind whether to leave or stare when a hand wrapped around my mouth and an arm encircled my torso. My eyes went wide in shock, and a scream rose in my throat, but then…

"What are you thinking?"

I relaxed immediately, and shrugged beneath his grip.

"Are you going to scream?"

Well, I _was,_ but then I realized that it's _you_ holding me. I shook my head.

"Don't try to run."

He released me and took a step back. "Vampire," I nearly spat it out and turned on him.

Simon looked curiously at me, but didn't respond to my accusation. His hair was messier than normal, and his clothes a bit dirty. Normally he looked pristine, almost statue-like. But now he had mud on the knees of his jeans, dirt coloring his pale hands. His lips, normally a soft pink, looked darker, almost burgundy. This wasn't quite the Simon I normally saw in school. Had he broken a nail?

All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears; suddenly, I was keenly aware of it, the blood rushing through my veins, his food source standing three feet in front of him. But he didn't look predatory, despite the dirt and the dead body behind me. "What the _fuck_ are you doing out here?"

In fact, he managed to look sheepish. "That's… complicated."

"Did you do this?" I jerked my thumb at what remained of Devon.

Simon nodded shamelessly. "Yes."

_"Why?"_

"He was trying to kill you."

_"Kill_ me?" Was Devon even capable of that complex a thought? I flashed back to Jackson's story the other night and accepted it as an answer.

"Yes, in the parking lot."

"The accident…"

"It wasn't an accident. He was upset that you rejected him. He's always been slightly disturbed, you just… managed to bring it out of him." His words rushed out, as if the speed of his explanation would convince me further.

Oh, great. Lovely ability. Inadvertently exposing psychopaths. My list of things to confront Simon with went out the window — Devon's decaying, supposedly blood-drained body was slumped against a tree behind me. The Spanish Inquisition wasn't exactly at the forefront of my mind. "So," was all I managed to get out.

"So… what are you thinking?"

I sighed. "What now?" Where do we, where does _anyone,_ go from here?

He took a step towards me, just within arms reach. "Well, Cassie, I suppose…" Another step. His face was cautious, but also slightly sinister. "I suppose that depends on you."

I rolled my eyes at the threat. Somehow, despite my recent revelations of Simon as a vampire and murderer, I didn't take it seriously. But then… "You planned this."

"Yes."

"You told me the trails were nice."

"Yes."

"How did you know I'd come here?"

"My sister has her own… abilities."

I let that one go, for now. "You're a vampire." Let's start with elephant-in-the-room number one.

"Yes."

"You're family is also vampires."

"Yes."

He stood foot away from me, hands in his pockets, blue eyes burning with some mixture of hesitation and… anxiety? "What on _earth_ were you planning to accomplish with this?" Saving my life is all well and good, but avenging a death that didn't happen was an entirely different matter.

Simon cocked his head, and his eyes glazed as he looked past me at Devon's body. "That's a very good question. I suppose I… I thought…"

"Yeah?"

"I suppose I thought you'd like it."

I laughed; a look of shock appeared on his face.

"What's so funny?"

I couldn't stop laughing.

"Cassie, this really isn't…"

"You…" I almost doubled over. "You thought I would _like_ this? Like… the way cats… bring dead birds… to their owners?"

If Simon were not a soulless, bloodsucking mythical creature, he'd have blushed.

Composing myself took more effort than I expected. "I must say, Simon, I'm flattered. Now what the hell are we going to do with him?"

He reeled. _"We?"_

"Yeah, Vampire Boy, _we."_ I turned and stepped back next to him. We appraised the body together, and I at least concluded that he wasn't any more pathetic dead than he had been alive. "Do you have DNA?" Forensics 101: is the murderer human?

He shook his head. "No. Oberon has tried; our skin is non-living, like an exoskeleton."

"I made out with a bug."

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind. So, you won't have left any DNA evidence on him?"

He grinned, a wicked, relaxed smile. "Well, none of mine."

"You sly dog." I nudged him with my elbow, but couldn't tell if he fully understood the expression. "So, would I be okay to stumble, wailing, back to camp and report the discovery of our dear departed friend?"

"Why yes, I do believe you would."

* * *

**Y'all should leave reviews. People are busy/getting scared off by the length of this now (and my last update time of 9am was a bad plan) but good reviews not only encourage me to keep writing, but they also encourage others to take the time to read it. Which in turn encourages reviews.**

**(nagnagnag)**

**Anyway, hope you guys are still liking it! If I get another chapter/chunk done before Friday I'll update early.**

**Thanks!**

**-Ce**


	17. Vegetarians

Despite the awkwardly animalistic nature of Simon's, er, _gift_ to me, I couldn't help but find it endearing. Being complicit in a murder was another matter, but first it had to be a murder. Simon had set the whole thing up quite nicely, and I found myself wondering how often he'd done this.

Devon had taken the bus out to Port Angeles and used his college fund to buy heroin and a car, which he then drove up to Boulder Creek and abandoned in the woods. He spent the next day or so lurching through the forest, high and despairing, before he took a fall and managed a nasty cut on his leg. In his drugged state he merely continued to lurch, sat down by a tree, and bled to death a day or so before I stumbled upon his dead body.

His motives were hazy, but rejection and the concussion — plus a long, inconsistent relationship with therapists — provided answers enough. His choice of location was easy. He'd been invited on the trip, he knew where I would be. The drugs had steered him off course, though, and it was only with pure luck that I found him.

This was the story. This is what all evidence pointed to, all interviews and all leads. My father stopped suspecting me the moment it became an actual possibility, my friends on the campout could attest to my _incredibly_ convincing display of anguish and horror, and my alibi was flawless.

I didn't get back from the police station until midnight, and that was only because I'd fallen asleep _there._ My father drove me home in silence. Not the awkward silence of failed small talk, but a pure, clean, no interaction silence. He'd had a shock, he thought his daughter had, and we were both exhausted. I gave him an unreturned goodnight and went upstairs to my room while he drove off to wrap things up.

After five minutes collapsed on my bed, I decided to pull myself together for another twenty and take a shower. Dad was probably going to sleep at the station; he'd been known to do that even when there wasn't much going on. I was counting on an evening alone, to think, to process, when I walked into my room to find Simon lounging on my bed.

"Shit! Jesus, Simon, couldn't you give me warning?"

He shrugged, hands on his chest and eyes on the ceiling. "I thought about it."

I wrapped my towel tighter around my torso and went to my dresser for pajamas. "Yeah, well maybe you should have done it." I wasn't actually mad at him, but I was tired and overwhelmed with the events of the day. When I turned around he was looking at me, eyes genuinely worried. I sighed. "Hold on. Let me get dressed, at least."

He hadn't moved when I got back. I plopped myself down on the end of the bed, and he slid into a cross-legged position with one fluid motion. We were mirrored. I flipped my light switch off and turned on the lamp; my eyes still hurt from the bright station lights.

"So, why are you here?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Yeah, no shit." I leaned up against the wall, frustrated by my own snappy tone. "Sorry, just tired."

"I'd say I understand, but unfortunately I haven't slept in nearly a century." He smiled, just a bit.

"Really?" A side effect of vampirism was inability to sleep? No coffins? I felt pity more than anything. Sleep was one of my favorite activities.

"Really." He ran a hand through his hair. "Where would you like to begin?"

Oh jeeze. "I'm not functioning well enough to know. What do you think is the most important?"

He made a face. I couldn't blame him — there was a lot to be said, a lot that he hadn't told me and I didn't know, with his hundred years of being a member of the undead and my precarious position as his food source.

I figured that was a good place to start. "So, you haven't tried to eat me yet."

"No." He smiled. "Not yet."

"And your family doesn't seem to have feasted on Forks in the last two years." I giggled at my terrible pun; he didn't seem to notice it.

"Oberon…" Apparently this was a more complex question than I'd anticipated. "We generally don't… _feed_ on humans, my family."

"Then what _do_ you eat?"

"Animals. Deer, bear, wolves. Any medium-sized mammal will do."

"Without a hunting license?" He blinked steadily at me. "Sorry, sorry. So, is that an exclusive thing, or…?"

"Well, it's complicated." He leaned forward. "Oberon, yes, for him it _is_ exclusive. He hasn't tasted human blood in centuries. He's the reason we are all…"

"Vegetarians?" I supplied.

He smirked. "Vegetarians. Yes."

"Why is he one?"

"His rebirth was… messy."

"Rebirth?"

He fumbled around for the words. "His... change, transition, from being a human to a vampire. It's a touch more encompassing than that, but that's not important. Oberon awoke from his change and massacred his family in a frenzy." My eyes widened. "Horrified with himself, he vowed to never harm another human, despite his… new state of being."

"Well, how… How come the rest of you are vegetarians?"

Simon's eyes bored into me from across the bed, and I resisted the urge to shift beneath his gaze. "He changed me. I was dying of tuberculosis and he changed me instead of watching me die. I owe him my… existence, and out of respect for him and that debt I generally abstain."

The seriousness in his voice tipped me off that the bond between Simon and the doctor, if not all vampires and their creators, was one that equated or surpassed that of blood. 'Rebirth' felt appropriate now. "And your… family?"

"Similar situations, all around. Farrah, my mother, is the only one besides me to have been changed by Oberon, though."

"Gotcha. So Devon…"

"Was both an exception and oversight. My family resents me breaking the diet, which is more or less a rule in our household, but Oberon has forgiven me and they will in time."

I nodded. This was helping me to get a better perspective on things, but I still had so many _questions._ "Why are you guys _here?"_

"So that Oberon can practice medicine. The cloud cover allows us to leave the house during the day."

"Why do the five of you go to school, though? I can see your… father wanting to help people, but what appeal does high school have for you?"

He smiled, canines sparkling. "For me, at least, it's boredom. My abilities," he tapped on his temple, "have a limited range, and I'm so used to the constant buzzing of voices in my head that I really do need to be around people. My siblings… have their own reasons, but boredom usually covers it."

"You look bored at school too, though."

Simon shrugged and tugged his jacket off. "Home is far less entertaining. You don't live with siblings, you've never had the chance to get sick of them the way we have."

"True." I blew a drying curl out of my eyes. "Why can you read minds?"

"We aren't sure, but human senses are heightened with the change, and we suspect it's related to that. As a human, I was good at reading people, knowing what they would do or say, predicting them. As a vampire, I can literally read their minds." He chuckled. "It's a gift and a curse, for sure. I've all but lost the ability to read body language, which is why getting to know you has been so interesting. You're almost teaching me a new language with the way you move."

"Why can't you read mine?"

His eyes narrowed in concentration — a look I recognized from the first week of school. He was trying to hear my thoughts. "I don't know. Maybe you just have a stronger mind than most humans."

_"These aren't the droids you're looking for."_

"Something like that. I have encountered this before, but it's certainly rare."

My mind was running in circles as I fumbled for another question. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming over?" It's not like he hadn't had the chance.

He shifted, tugged on his fingers. "I was worried that you wouldn't want to see me."

"Even after today?" Helping him cover up a murder wasn't an adequate display of affection? Jesus, was he hard to please.

"I've told you this is new to me, Cassie. I have nothing by which to gauge your feelings. I'm used to hearing precisely how people feel and why they feel that way, not this… stumbling through a courtship."

"You're far from stumbling, Simon."

He couldn't look me in the eyes. "Thank you, but regardless — my very nature is good enough reason for you to never speak to me again; the cataclysmic display this morning was a risk I hadn't fully realized. This has been quite the balancing act for me, a balance I fear I tipped in the wrong direction."

I nodded. "It was unexpected, I'll give you that — but look, Simon, you're one of… four people I can talk to around here. You, Lyle, Valerie, and Jackson. Lyle is almost a little brother to me, Valerie is a girl, and Jackson is… well, you know Jackson. The only thing we have in common is a sense of humor. If any stumbling has happened, it's on me, for stumbling into you. You're interesting in ways that are impossible for anyone else, to the point where I don't know if I could ever get bored with you." It didn't sound as satisfactory as it should have — but Simon seemed to get how important that was. I relaxed. "So, since you're learning body language, what am I thinking?"

Simon smiled. "That you really, really want to go to sleep."

"Precisely." He took me in his arms, and I was out.

* * *

**So I know I said this would be early, and technically it still is, but I meant to post it earlier today. Like ten and a half hours ago. Oh well.**

**Review! I'm still catching up on my review-returning, so... patience. School starts next week. Life is busy. Ya know.**

**-Ce**


	18. The Rite

The shock to the student body was… significant. Though Devon was not widely liked, his apparent suicide threw everyone for a loop. Even Jackson, who'd followed the park rangers to the body out of curiosity, had been shaken up by the sight of him. Lyle went out with them, too. I'd been too 'distraught' to advise him against it, but he didn't seem changed by the experience. I couldn't tell if it was 15-year-old pride that kept it from showing or if it really didn't matter. I briefly considered asking Simon for his insights, but it felt like too much of an abuse of my vampire boyfriend's power.

The school spent two weeks in mourning. Teachers fumbled with their lessons and made awkward speeches, students broke down in class, the counselor's office began taking appointments, the _entire school_ thought I was going to crack at any second, and worse was that I had to act like it. For two weeks I moped around the halls, intentionally spaced out at least once a day, pretended to have no appetite — lost five valuable pounds in the process — made even less effort to socialize than normal, and generally acted like the emo kid I was in middle school. It was almost like going back to my roots.

I did not miss Devon. In fact, I felt wholly and completely neutral about his… passing. But while I did not regret my prominent role in his loss, neither was I happy about it. My apathy for the entire situation was boundless. I cared about my father slowly getting over it and finding his own resolution. I cared about my friends going at least mostly back to normal. I cared about Lyle's fragile adolescence. And I cared about Simon remaining innocent.

The looming shadow over Forks High School was at least partially lifted when we walked in to see a banner stretching across the hall.

VALERIE, WINTER FORMAL? -EDDIE

With the dance buzz sparked, it would hardly take a week for the drama to catch flame. On seeing the banner I sighed with relief and began my surprisingly rapid incline back into the world of the non-traumatised. My friends went through a slower recovery than I did, but Valerie's glow was as infectious as her smile. It wasn't long before our table talk had turned away from brooding silence interspersed with philosophical questions to the more lighthearted fare of 'Who's gonna ask who to the dance?'

"Simon's going to ask Cassie, we all know that."

Somewhere in the mix of Devon's unfortunate demise and me and Simon becoming an 'item,' my friends had realized that he called me Cassie instead of just Cass. I couldn't tell if their adoption of it was intentional or not, but it had taken me about a week to notice, so it was too late to take corrective action.

I shrugged as everyone stared at me. "I don't know about that."

Sophie looked up from her noodle cup. "Why not? You two are dating, right?"

"Eh." We hadn't really talked about it. Being complicit in a murder meant _something,_ as did my awareness of his inhuman nature, but somehow these things added up to 'Bonnie and Clyde' rather than 'dating.' "I don't think so, I mean… we're…"

Valerie smiled understandingly. "You're together, at least."

"Well, yeah," 'together' was such a gloriously undefined term, "but I don't really relate that to the dance."

Sophie pouted. "But you have to go! It's so…" She searched for the word, waving her salty spork around. "Romantic!"

Was that the best she could come up with? "I can talk to him about it, but I really have no interest in going."

"Why not?"

"I went to a few in Phoenix, and they were miserable." Mostly because of the drama involved, but the more general the dislike the easier it is to get out of it.

"Why?"

Was she trying to make up for Devon's absence or something? "Loud, dark, sweaty, loud. It's just not my thing, Soph."

She sighed into her noodle cup. "Well, maybe I can talk Simon into talking you into it."

I almost laughed. Even though my friends were more comfortable around Simon, he was still an enigma to them. There had been an awkward introduction at Sophie's insistence, but other than that no words had really been exchanged. "You can certainly try, Sophie."

"I will."

I would have _paid_ to witness that conversation, but she caught him after school, while he waited for me to shower after gym. I only heard the tail end of it.

"... wouldn't be the same without Cassie."

"You've said that." I rounded the corner to see Simon leaned up against the wall, hands in his jeans pockets, hair a shade darker from the drizzle. Sophie had her jacket hood up, so I couldn't clearly see her face. "But my concern isn't _your_ dance experience, it's _ours."_

She shifted her weight. "It is about you two, dances are like a… a ritual, like a rite of passage. You shouldn't be missing out on it."

He didn't even need to roll his eyes to communicate the condescension. "Sophie, believe me, if I thought that either of us would enjoy ourselves, I'd get down on one knee and beg her to attend. However, we've both been to enough high school dances to satisfy… multiple lifetimes."

"But _you've_ only lived here two years, and you haven't been to a single dance."

"I haven't, have I?

"No."

"Well, let's not break the winning streak. Ah, Cassie, hello."

I slunk out from my hiding spot around the corner. "Hey Simon." Just to spite Sophie, I gave him a quick peck. "Hey Soph. What're you guys talking about?"

His arm slipped around my waist; Sophie took a step back, as if to get a full view of us. "The dance you don't want to go to. I'm trying to talk your… boyfriend into taking you."

I looked up at Simon. "Are you my boyfriend?"

He made a show of thinking about it. "It's possible. I suppose that would depend on how we're defining 'boyfriend.'"

"Do you count as a boy?"

He blinked at me. I waited for him to say something, but Sophie gave up on us before he had the chance. "Ohhhkayyy, well I think I'll leave you two alone. See you tomorrow, Cassie."

I beamed at her. "Bye!"

"That was… risky, Cassie."

I snagged his hand and we sauntered to the parking lot. "You've taken bigger risks. It was fun seeing her face though, wasn't it?"

Simon shrugged. "Yes, but her thoughts were more interesting."

"What were they?" I bit my lip; I'd avoided asking him questions like this. People's thoughts were none of my business, and were I in the same position as anyone else in the world I wouldn't want a mind-reading vampire knowing my innermost thoughts, let alone that vampire's girlfriend. It was difficult, though. Sophie's facial expressions tended to give her dead away, and I could only guess at the process behind those emotions.

"Confusion, mostly. And distraction; our banter doesn't interest her quite as much as our existence, so she was only half-listening. Honestly I haven't payed much attention to anyone's thoughts here to get a full understanding of them."

Huh? "What do you mean?"

His eyes lit up; clearly, he didn't have many people to talk to about this. "Every mind is different. Most people brush off things like 'everyone is unique,' take it as cheesy, self-indulgent propaganda — which it is — but it's still true. The different experiences of each person shapes their view of the world, and how they articulate it to themselves, so in many ways each person has their own internal language." We were at my car. I pulled the tailgate open and hopped on. "No one thinks in purely words. There's a backdrop of color, imagery, emotional concepts, sounds, and occasionally texture." He pushed my hair back and sat on the truck with me. "In a place like this, where most people were born and grew here, their minds work similarly because of similar experience. They understand the same forest, know the same neighbors, and can recite the same directions to get somewhere. But even in such a secluded place, there is incredible variety. No one has the same idea of 'grandmother's pie' or 'picking flowers.'" I started to pay attention to my own thoughts as he spoke, and it helped to understand. "But I digress. Most people think in highly individualized, sensory ways. All I get," he tapped on his temple, "is an instant, present snapshot of their thoughts. More often than not I can only get a sense of a person's reaction. They need to be thinking with some dedication in order for me to fully understand without the context of their life."

"Wow. So what's sitting in the cafeteria like, then?"

"It can easily be overwhelming, but over time I've learned to tune it out, turn it down so to speak. Sometimes I'll be listening for specific things, and then it's a matter of sifting through keywords, like speed-reading, but generally I just ignore it." He smiled. "The first few years were difficult, certainly. I spent a good deal of time hiding out in the middle of nowhere just for some peace and quiet."

I laughed. "You wouldn't be the first one, that's for sure."

His expression became thoughtful. "I've always wondered if the multitude of historical hermits were, at least in part, mind-readers like myself. Or if people who hear voices are struggling with some weak version of this."

"Are there any others… like you? I mean, who have the same ability?"

He shook his head. "No, not exactly. Arronax, one of our… forefathers, has something similar, but _much_ more powerful. My ability is child's play compared to his."

"Forefathers?"

Simon sighed and looked out at the near-empty parking lot. "A story for another time, Cassie Darling. It's Friday, and I believe your father has a date tonight."

"Oh shit, that's right. Frank and Lyle are coming over." I hopped down from the truck; Simon followed and closed the tailgate. "So when _can_ we finish this conversation, then?"

He raised an eyebrow. "How about tomorrow? Dinner at my house?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Am I dinner?"

* * *

**Whoops. Sorry. That whole school starting thing... yeah. I'll try to keep updates consistent from here on out, but I have a busy schedule and I don't know if I'll have time for writing for a while, and I've hardly got two chapters written out. Sorry in advance.**

**If I haven't reviewed a story of yours, let me know in a message or in your review and I'll get on that - I'm notoriously forgetful.**

**Sooo review! And again, sorry for the lateness. I'll know on Friday if I'll be able to keep this up through the quarter.**

**-Ce**


	19. Swann's Way

Lyle did not feel like playing cards. He did not feel like playing Scrabble, Monopoly, or Parcheesi. I _did_ get a laugh out of suggesting we rope our fathers into a game of Cards Against Humanity, but even that was short lived.

"How about a walk?"

He looked into the living room, at Frank and Dad howling carelessly at the television. "Yeah, Cass, that sounds good."

Forks has always been peaceful at night. We bundled up and walked around the neighborhood, weaving various patterns through the blocks and crooked roads. Our conversation started with his dad, moving along to how his homeschool was going and what he's been up to with his friends, to my dad.

"He was freaked out for a while," I told him. "Stuff like that doesn't happen around here, you know?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's almost surreal, really. I didn't know him, but seeing him there… Damn."

I sighed. Time to broach the subject. "Look, are you okay about all that?"

"All what?"

"All… Devon. Seeing… _that_ must have been kind of a shock. It was for me."

Lyle shrugged. "Eh. Not really. It was really clean, honestly. I was expecting something a bit… more, I guess."

"You've just been acting kind of weird lately, are you sure you're okay?"

_Now_ he got nervous. "I'm fine, yeah."

"You seem worried about something." Sometimes I had to poke this kid with a stick to get anything out of him.

"Well, yeah, but not Devon. That was nothing."

"Then what is it?"

"So you're dating Simon now, right?"

Was _that_ what all this was about? "Yeah, so what?" I couldn't help being defensive. While there hadn't been any real antagonism towards me and Simon as a couple, no one had been particularly encouraging.

"He's just…" Lyle searched for the right word. We stopped under a streetlight, our breath fogging in the cool night air. "I don't trust him, Cass. He puts me on edge, that whole family does."

"But why? I get that they're a bit… standoffish, but that's no real reason to dislike them."

"I don't _dislike_ them. I'm sure they're nice enough, whatever. There's just something weird with them. Like they're hiding something. Or just plain hiding."

I struggled to keep my face blank, and shivered from the cold or the accuracy of his words. "Lyle, they just aren't social. I get what you're saying, but they aren't…" Dangerous? Lie. Hiding something? Lie. There was no honest way to finish the sentence.

"Cass, I'm not asking you to stay away from him or anything. Just be careful, please? For me? I don't trust them, and I don't want to see you… to see anything happen to you, okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to argue with him — Lyle knew me too well, he'd know I was lying. My playful question to Simon earlier, 'Am I dinner?' suddenly became a serious concern. "I'll be careful, Lyle. Don't worry."

* * *

The Hightower residence shocked me in its normality. Down one of many off roads, Simon lived with his family in a small house near the Calawah river. It was two stories, gray shingle siding, with a sloping roof and front porch. Their gravel driveway pulled all the way to the back, where a rickety carport leaned against the back fence and housed their obnoxious vehicles. Simon's Volvo didn't fit, and took up the back corner of their backyard. I parked next to it, and couldn't help but admire how industrial they looked side-by-side.

Talking to Lyle had put me on edge — what _was_ I doing, really? Getting involved with a member of the undead who also preyed on my blood. And not only that, but here I was walking into a house full of them, and hoping that they all had the same level of self control.

The back door opened before I had the chance to go around to the front. The screen protested loudly. I smiled. "Hey." It was strange to see him there — Simon, in all his flaming, vampiric glory, standing on a grimy, collapsing back porch. A cat slid through the doorway, pitch black and purring against Simon's jeans. "I didn't know you had a cat."

He looked down and smiled. "I told you I liked them. This is Edward." He scratched the cat's ears. "Come on in, I'll show you around."

The back door led into a simple kitchen that also functioned as a dining and laundry room. Had I not known better I'd have said it was scrupulously clean, but knowing about their diet made it clearly unused. A thin layer of dust sat on the counters, and the fridge wasn't even running. The table gave some indication of life, but when Edward hopped on and sprawled himself out it became rather obvious why.

Through the door was a living room of about the same size — two large, cushioned brown couches and a flatscreen on the far wall. The TV was on, and Simon's brothers had spread themselves like the cat to watch a baseball game. "Cassie, I don't believe you've met my brothers."

They looked up. Brandon paused the game and twisted his neck to look at me. He smiled. "Hi." I shook his hand over the couch. "Brandon. Nice to finally meet you, seems like you're stuck in Simon's head over there."

I blushed, just a bit. Josiah stared blankly at me, and only nodded when I met his eyes, then looked back at the frozen TV screen. Simon rested his cool hand on my back. "Let me show you the rest." He pushed me through to a hallway. The front door was at one end, and he flipped on the light to reveal three doors in front of us and one beneath the staircase. "Basement," the staircase one, "Oberon and Farrah," first door, "Brandon and Bethany," second, "and the bathroom."

Simon pulled me upstairs. This space was fairly open, with bedrooms to the right and an empty space on the left. Well, it would have been empty — Oberon seemed to have set up camp in the corner. A large desk with a computer took up most of the area, and spreads of papers and files took up the rest of it. "Whoa."

Simon nodded. "He works from home a lot. If he needed to sleep, he'd be a workaholic."

"Clearly." I turned my attention to the three doors in front of us. "So, which one's yours?"

He smiled. "This one."

Simon's room was about the size of mine, but he had way more stuff. An entire wall was covered in bookshelves, and I had to stop myself from pulling one out and sitting down right there to read. He had a desk beneath a large window that overlooked the forest, with a laptop and lamp and pile of textbooks I recognized. The three walls that weren't bookshelves had photos and posters on them so dense I could barely see the faded blue wallpaper. There was a small, green couch in the corner by the desk. All in all, it would have been a pretty cool, standard room, if it hadn't been for the black coffin against the far wall.

I started laughing. "Seriously? Vampires in coffins?"

He shrugged. "I don't sleep, but it's sound and light proof. There's a thin lining of lead in the wood — I can't… _hear_ through it. A normal bed would hardly even be comfortable, and this lets me get some rest."

With the giggles still threatening to overtake me, I ran my fingers along the ebony wood. "Can I see inside?"

He shut the door behind us and lifted the lid. The interior was… incredibly standard. Silky cream upholstery, a small pillow at the head. There was a latch on the inside of the lid, and a handle to pull it down on top of him. "I'd let you get in," he said it almost mockingly, "but as a living human you need oxygen."

"It's so pretty."

Simon cocked his head at me. "Thanks, I suppose."

Not wanting to make him too self-conscious about his choice of resting place, I switched to his bookshelf. At first I couldn't figure out the organization, but after a minute it was clearly chronological. I plucked _Du côté de chez Swann_ off the first shelf and thumbed through it. The book was old, hardbound and simple, with thin yellowing pages. The margins were riddled with pencil annotations in both English and French, some so light I could hardly see them.

"I read that one when I was human." He had an odd expression on his face. His eyes flit from me to the book, like he was comparing us. "It suits you."

I held it up as a question.

"Yes. Have you read it?"

"No. I've heard of it, though."

"I must have read it a thousand times." He seemed distant, like even drawing attention to the book threw him back into it.

"You know French?"

He nodded. "My family was French. My father used to travel back every other year to visit his family, and sometimes he brought one or all of us. It was very important to him that we be able to speak with our relatives, so he made sure we were all fluent."

"We?"

Simon blinked at me. "Oh, that's right." He reached over his coffin and pulled out a photo album from behind it. "I had two older brothers, Anton and Emile." One of the first pictures was of his family; the names were scrawled beneath. Antoinette, his mother, sat in the center, hair tucked up in a bun and chin raised proudly. There was a baby on her lap, and the name _Clara_ scrawled between his mother and father. Matthias stood at the right with a hand on her shoulder, and the resemblance between him and Simon was clear. He had the same bright eyes, untamed hair, and build. Anton stood directly behind his mother; he looked about seventeen, with a serious expression and a crooked nose. Emile was probably fifteen, gangly and young to the left of his mother, the baby Clara tugging on his fingers. Then Simon, his father's other hand on his shoulder, looking straight into the camera with the piercing gaze I knew so well. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. His face was still round, he was still short and boyish looking, and so oddly serious. It could have been my imagination, but his mortality was clear in the picture. Young, human Simon had death looming over him.

So why did the immortal Simon behind me seem so tense?

"What are you thinking?"

"What happened to Clara?"

His hand slid over my shoulder. "She died a few months after this was taken. She was hardly a year old."

Wow. "Do you have any where you're older?"

We sat down on his couch, and he flipped through the book slowly, explaining each picture with a sentence or two. "Emile and my father playing chess in the kitchen. Anton whittling on the porch. Mother sewing up a shirt, or some pants, I can't tell. My father was fascinated by the camera, he brought it out often to take pictures. Here we are." He put his finger on one of the last photos in the album. "This is the last photo taken of me. I was changed three months later." In the picture, Simon was leaning on a balcony railing, smiling into the camera with a breeze tossing his hair.

"Stand up, let me look at you."

He obliged. I looked from the Simon in the photo to the Simon in front of me. The photograph was much softer. There was a gap in his teeth; he had an overbite, a thin lower lip, and a slightly more hooked nose. One of his eyes in the picture seemed to droop. He'd been skinny — not lean, not trim, but almost skeletal like I was, to the point where his clothes hung off him. Probably hand-me-downs from his brothers. It was Simon, only… human. I'd tried to imagine it before, and now here it was in front of me.

"Unbelievable." He raised an eyebrow and sat back down. "What happened? When you were… changed?"

I gently took his hand from his hair. He chuckled. "It's not much of a story, Cassie."

"I want to know."

"Anton had left a few years before, shaken by Clara's death. He went to New York to seek his fortune, like so many others, and cut off contact entirely. Emile died when his horse got spooked and bucked him off. My mother was distraught, and in her weakened state died of tuberculosis. My father passed of the same thing hardly a week later, and I was about to as well when Oberon offered me the choice. He was a doctor even then, and recognized that I was alone and dying. During one of my more lucid moments, he explained what it entailed and gave me a day to consider. I accepted."

"What exactly does it 'entail?'" My natural curiosity was bound to rear its head about this at some point.

"Pain." He said it with the bluntness it seemed to deserve. "And the loss of your immortal soul."

* * *

**I'm so sorry guys, but this is gonna have to sit on the backburner for a while. My class and work and life loads are ridiculous right now, and I can't guarantee writing time. This is the last completed chapter I have.**

**Thanks for all the support, and I'll do my best to come back to it soon!**

**Cheers**

**-Ce**


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